Family Secrets revision
by ak-stinger
Summary: Sequel to "Beauty and Misery." Paris is gone with Achilles when Hector returns to Troy. Now Hector has to find the truth in all of his family's secrets - including his own. ParisAchilles slash. COMPLETE
1. Living life with a lie

_Title_: Family Secrets (revision)

_Author_: ak-stinger

_Disclaimer_: I don't own any of the characters that appear in the movie or Greek mythology (although I did create some of the supporting characters). I am making no money from writing this (in fact, with the way I go through notebooks and pens I'm losing money). Suing me is pointless since I'd be homeless and hungry without the assistance of student loans. All I have to my name are a fish, a hamster, and every movie Orlando Bloom's made that I could get my hands on and I will fight ruthlessly to keep those.

_Summary_: Paris is gone when Hector returns to Troy, apparently abducted by Achilles. As Hector seeks to find out how that could happen, he begins to uncover his family's secrets and lies. Before he can be reunited with Paris, he must bring the truth to light – and expose his own deep secret. Sequel to _Beauty and Misery_ but it could be read on its own (see _Author's Note_ below).

_Rating_: R

_Warnings_: This story is **AU**. Paris (now a sixteen-year-old boy) and Priam (one of the story's villains), in particular, are extremely out of character. The Trojan War never took place and Paris and Helen never met. It is also **SLASH**; specifically Achilles/Paris slash. If any of this doesn't appeal to you, please hit the back button now.

_Feedback_: I really appreciate compliments and constructive criticism, but I won't beg for reviews or hold chapters hostage until I get a particular number of them. As far as I'm concerned, 1 thoughtful, quality review is worth more than an infinite number of forced ones.

The one type of so-called "feedback" I dislike immensely is flames. Let me right now: _IF YOU DON'T LIKE THIS STORY AND HAVE NO INTEREST IN READING IT, PLEASE DO US BOTH A FAVOR AND HIT THE BACK BUTTON WHENEVER YOU COME TO THAT REALIZATION. _Flaming someone only proves that you're a unpleasant jackass who's been reduced to sending strangers insults to feel good about yourself. Any flame I get will be deleted from my e-mail (after the obligatory eye roll) and – if you flame anonymously – deleted from the story's review history upon my next visit to the website. Bottom line? Don't waste both of our energy.

_Author's Note_: This story is a revision. While it will have the same storyline, it will (hopefully!) be more fleshed out and give me a chance to fix some continuity problems with it and _Beauty and Misery_. Think of it as an elaboration rather than a replacement. I will not remove the original version. The only request I will make is that, if you haven't already read the original, please don't cheat and do it now! :)

Since this is a revision of a sequel that was written before the story it followed, it's hard to say whether or not it could be read on its own. I think it could, but I'm not the best judge of that sort of thing.

_A/N, part 2:_ Some of you have asked me to notify you by e-mail ever time I update this story. While I did that for this first chapter, I'm reluctant to make it a regular basis sort of thing. This is not because I don't appreciate my readers – _I ADORE YOU ALL!_ – but because I have the most worthless memory ever (which retains entertainment and historical trivia but refuses to remember anything practical, like where my car insurance bill is). I do, however, update on a regular basis, and a new chapter will be posted sometime every Monday (unless something beyond my control happens; then it will be a.s.a.p. and get back to the normal routine once I can manage it).

_And now…the story!_

Prince Hector of Troy had long ago resigned himself to the apparent fact that the gods were amused by the jest that was his life. How else did he keep ending up in situations that were becoming more and more ridiculous and many times painful while being taunted by strange and unpleasant replications of what he was really longing for? For proof he didn't need to look any further than where he was at the moment. All he wanted was to be home in Troy, watching his beloved wife Andromache rock their infant son Astyanax to sleep; instead he was standing in front of a man who _reminded_ him of the boy. When he was in the midst of a tremendous temper tantrum, that is. And, of course, only if Astyanax was an ugly, hairy, older man with a shocking lack of intelligence and an odd sense of entitlement. Hector sighed inwardly as he forced himself to focus on distinguishing the man's words again after tuning out his rant for some time. This was supposed to be the new king of all Greek kings?

Menelaus' preening had turned to bristling a few days earlier when he realized that Hector wasn't going to cower in fear and awe before his might. "The terms of the treaty are an insult!" he declared irritably. "How can Troy expect me to give up so much of my enormous power while offering so little in return? Do you forget who I am?"

Hector felt a headache coming on at the thought of having to go through this conversation yet again. He was going to have to forgo diplomacy in favor of bluntness if he ever wanted to leave those shores. "I can say with certainty that I know _exactly_ with whom I am dealing, King Menelaus," he told him firmly. "We are only offering what is equal to the value of what we will receive. You cannot expect the most powerful kingdom in the world to – well, let me just note that no sane man would offer a chest of gold in exchange for a crude and worn rag. The cloth peddler must be grateful for whatever he can get."

"Your insolence will not be tolerated!" Now Menelaus was sputtering mad and growing more so each moment as Hector continued to show no emotion at all. "Gold and rags? I am King Priam's rival in power throughout the Aegean – "

"Your brother Agamemnon could claim to rival my father's power," interrupted Hector. "However, he is dead" – and in Tartarus, if there was any justice, for he found the deceased king to be revolting – "and your claim on whatever may remain of his power is weak at best. He did have a son and rightful heir, even if he is too young to rule effectively at the time. Without Troy to support you, who do you really think will be ruling?

Anger and an unspoken fear flashed in Menelaus' eyes.

"It will be your sister-in-law," Hector went on. It was a shame that the Greek man was more easily controlled than Clytemnestra was. If anything else, he had to at least respect her strength, ingenuity, and choice of murder victim. "Even if she must do so by using that puppet of a lover of hers, she will gain the power of the throne."

He paused to study Menelaus' face and felt a glimmer of relief and hope to see that he looked unnerved. "She will not tolerate anyone else trying to claim it from her, least of all you," he continued. "But perhaps you would rather see for yourself how much she will endure before once again swinging a deadly blade."

His shoulders only sagged a bit before the king drew himself up to his full height again and expanded his chest. All of Hector's good feelings deflated in an instant. "Clytemnestra is no threat to me," Menelaus boasted recklessly. "The Greek kings –"

"Are free from the shadow of Agamemnon's influence," said Hector as he did his very best not to let out a frustrated scream. "They will not willingly submit to the same influence with someone who lacks his charisma and aura of power."

Menelaus shook his head as his eyes darkened with wrath. "I could have your city leveled with a snap of my fingers," he hissed stubbornly. "For all of Troy's might and wealth, I have one thing that your King Priam does not: Achilles. The greatest warrior in the world fights for _me_."

Hector barely managed to contain his snort. "Achilles fights for Achilles," he scoffed. "Not even Agamemnon could truly command him. If he would not totally submit to your brother's governance even when the rest of the Greek world did, what makes you think he'll obey you? He will not fight for a king who is under major threat from a woman, especially from a woman who just murdered the brother of the aforementioned king. You don't even know where he is now."

"He is in his homeland," replied Menelaus smugly, crossing his arms and planting his feet in an unconscious show of defiance.

"He is in Troy," Hector informed him. "My father decided that now was an excellent time to re-forge all of the existing alliances. He's playing host to Achilles and his Myrmidons even as we speak."

"I will send Odysseus to him," Menelaus said desperately. The idea of the fabled warrior fighting in any other army but his was bone chilling. "He understands the importance of a united Greece and will not be as faithless as the others. He will make Achilles adhere."

"Yes, I've heard that Ithaca's king is wise, savvy, and above all, persuasive," Hector commented. "Those are some of the reasons why Troy seeks a new alliance with his kingdom as well. He and a small contingent of his men are also my father's guests at this time."

Menelaus fell silent and Hector went in for the kill. "You may see yourself as Agamemnon's rightful successor, one who wields the same amount of power and commands an equal show of loyalty, but you are the only one. Everyone else knows that Troy now has no rival in the Aegean. They petition daily to create new alliances with us now that they don't have to consider the destruction Agamemnon would sow on their homes. We have an interest in helping you remain on your brother's throne and ask only for your unwavering loyalty in return. I would think it was a small price to pay."

"I – I," stammered Menelaus.

"I have been away from home for far too long," Hector said evenly. "If I allow these negotiations to continue on as they have been, my infant son will be a grown man by the time I see him again! I refuse to spend another day here if we are making no progress. You must accept or refuse this offer now. Refuse and I will be standing before your brother's widow by the end of the week with the same proposition. Accept and you can get back to your lovely" _and vapid_ "wife's bed, secure in the knowledge that you'll live to rule another day. Well, what is your decision?"

Menelaus looked Hector in the eyes, finally worn down. "I accept your terms."

_OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO_

Hector breathed a sigh of contentment as he rode closer to the gates of Troy. Having sent a messenger out the night Menelaus agreed to the treaty – two days before he and his men themselves were able to depart Sparta – he was sure that his father would be waiting for him with all the empty pomp and celebration that would further keep him from his family. Well, so be it; fighting the inevitable had only added to the time that those happy reunions were delayed. Once Hector gave him the good news about the Greek king accepting the new alliance and mingled sufficiently with the Trojan nobles and foreign guests he would be able to slip away unnoticed. He smiled to himself at the thought of finally seeing Andromache and Astyanax – how much that boy must have grown while he was away – after being parted from them for so long. Since his father had a palace full of guests that he didn't particularly trust he might even be distracted enough for Hector to sneak a visit with Paris.

His smile turned wistful as he thought about sixteen-year-old Paris. Priam had kept the boy sheltered his entire life, isolated from the outside world to the point where the only people he saw that were even remotely his own age were the various servants that waited on the royal family and the palace prostitutes after banquets. Hector knew that position all too well and it worried him to think that innocent Paris might one day have to go through all of the pain that he went through because of the choices he had made.

He'd tentatively raised that concern with Priam a few years earlier after observing that the only people that spoke to Paris on a regular basis were the Trojan king, a servant child, and his father's trusted right-hand among the nobles, Lord Isidore. Of course he regretted that action now, as his ears were still ringing from the ensuing tirade. Priam forbade Hector from having anything to do with Paris. That fact wounded the older prince deeply, even though he understood the reasoning behind it.

'_You have no one to blame but yourself!" _he silently berated himself. _"Father is only protecting Paris from you…from being tainted by your sin. It's a shame you cannot follow his example; you are weak, Hector of Troy. You think only of what you want and think nothing of how it could affect Paris. Haven't you caused enough suffering?'_

These types of thought came to him often but never kept him from slipping into Paris' bedchamber whenever he could. The idea of never seeing him again hurt far worse than any chastisement that he could receive. As the boy got older, Priam made it a point to keep them even more separated, if that were even possible, but refusing to allow him to be trained as a warrior while sending Hector abroad more frequently. The natural result was that their secret visits were getting harder and harder to manage.

Upon entering the gates of Troy, Hector was surprised to find silent streets to greet him and his men rather than the usual cheering crowds. Perhaps his messenger hadn't reached the city yet? No, that didn't feel right; people _were_ gathered to watch the procession. He shuddered involuntarily under their intense gazes as they looked up at him expectantly while a low murmur ran through the crowd. Tension and fear hovered in the air all around them, choking the city. Something terrible had happened. He knew it with bitter certainty; while he was away humoring a boisterous and weak man something terrible had happened.

Hector gave a sudden, clear command – "Follow me! Hurry!" – as he spurred his horse on, racing to the palace as fast as the animal could carry him. Had Andromache, Astyanax, or Paris fallen ill? Was his father well? Was he dead? He felt a little nauseous when he realized that the thought of Priam's demise didn't make him entirely unhappy. He shook his head to clear it of those unacceptable thoughts. It was probably none of those things – most likely the visiting Greeks had caused some kind of scandal.

As he was dismounting in front of the entrance to the palace, a soldier ran out to greet him. "Prince Hector!" the man cried, letting his elation and relief be heard. Hector recognized him immediately as Lucius, a good and trustworthy soldier as well as the son of a noble. The only reason he hadn't ordered him to join the company of men that went with him to Sparta was because his high social ranking and pure intentions made him the perfect candidate to keep a protective eye on the prince's loved ones while he was away.

Whatever had happened, it had apparently been beyond Lucius' capabilities to amend it. "Thank Apollo you've returned!" he added.

"What has happened?" demanded Hector, too preoccupied with praying that whatever catastrophe had taken place wasn't irreversible to commence with a proper greeting. "Have the negotiations fallen apart?"

"King Odysseus of Ithaca and his men are still here," Lucius informed him. A sneer came upon his face. "Lord Achilles" – he spat after he spoke the name – "and his Myrmidons left two days ago. May the gods strike them dead for what they have done!"

Hector's heart twisted. "So we're at war with the Myrmidons?" he asked. A sense of dread grew inside of him, and not the usual one he felt when he was faced with the prospect of being away from his family yet again. There was more to the situation than just a simple insult and an early departure. "What happened that we couldn't reach an agreement with him?"

Lucius' eyes blazed as he remembered. "Lord Achilles wanted what he had no right to ask for," he growled. "Yet he would not take 'no' for an answer."

"Lucius please, I need you to explain everything to me," requested Hector in a desperate pleading tone.

The soldier sucked in some air. "Prince Paris –"

"Paris?" Hector interrupted in a horrified whisper. "What does Paris have to do with all of this?"

"He carried him off, sire," cried Lucius. "Prince Paris is gone! Achilles kidnapped him two days ago. We are sure he was on the Myrmidon ship that headed back to Greece."

To be continued…


	2. Our secrets will bury us if we let them

_A/N: This chapter might cause deja vu with people who've already read Beauty and Misery, but Hector does need to find out about what happened during the time span that the story covered. Please bear with me._

Hector couldn't breathe. His mind reeled as he forced himself to digest what Lucius had just told him. Paris – sweet, young, beautiful Paris who had no military training whatsoever because of King Priam had to protect him from what the elder prince had done – was now at the mercy of Achilles. While they'd never actually met in battle before, Hector knew that the Greek's sudden mood swings and violent outburst were just as legendary as his fighting prowess. No one on that ship or in the Myrmidon homeland would defend a foreign prince from his whims; even if such an action _wouldn't_ put their lives in danger, the loyalty of the men to their commander was undisputed. What Paris must be enduring! Black dots were starting to appear before Hector's eyes…

"Prince Hector!" The startled Lucius grabbed him as his knees buckled. Hector shook his head and sucked in some air, attempting to think and breathe properly. Swooning in the streets was not going to help Paris. Information, he needed information; about how this happened, what warnings did they have that it was going to happen, and most importantly, _why no one did anything to stop it!_ A surge of anger rushed through him and he felt as if he could tear the whole city apart with his bare hands in order to find the answers to those pressing questions. It was a shame that the world was still tilting a little, making him sway slightly.

"Sire, perhaps you should sit down," suggested Lucius. The prince had barely nodded in agreement before Lucius determinedly led him to a nearby bench. He watched as his commander bent forward and gripped the edge of the flat stone so tightly that his knuckles turned white. That was a strange sight since Hector was usually so calm and together, as if he'd spent a lifetime learning to control his feelings under the most stressful circumstances. Of course, having a brute abduct a family member was quite possibly the worst and most personal stress that one could suffer. "Do you need me to fetch you a healer?"

Frowning, Hector waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. "I don't need herbs, smelling salts, or anything else they would undoubtedly give me to dull my senses," he told him darkly. "What I need right now is to keep my wits about me while you tell me everything you know. How could something like this happen in a palace full of guards and soldiers? How did Achilles even have enough access to Paris to have the opportunity to abduct him? I was certain that Father wouldn't let any Greek even see Paris after Agamemnon tried to force himself on him during that last visit three years ago."

Lucius snarled inwardly at the memory of learning that Hector had to pull that supposedly kingly Greek off of his brother in a corridor, but refused to let it come to the surface. "Prince Paris was present at the nightly banquets but the king – the king would have never let one of them actually talk to him or have any contact with him if he – he had any other choice," he got out as the anguish in Hector's eyes began to break through his resolve to remain strong and collected.

Hector's shoulders hunched as if he were Atlas himself and bearing the weight of the world. It looked to Lucius as if he had just had his spirit broken. Guilt ran through the soldier's entire being and he wanted to cry out, to beg for punishment because he deserved it. _Nothing_ could be worse than feeling the way he did at that moment. "I'm so sorry, my prince!" he cried in shame, falling to his knees before him. "The blame for what happened must fall directly on me."

"What?"

"I have done so much wrong that it is difficult to know where to begin," he confessed, "but I must start with the fact that I knew of Lord Achilles' unsavory intentions toward Prince Paris."

"And what did you do about it?" asked Hector slowly, growing livid when Lucius simply bowed his head. "Nothing? You knew that Achilles was going to take Paris and you did nothing?"

"No!" exclaimed Lucius miserably. "I only knew that he was – interested in him, but never that it was to this extent."

"But you just decided to keep whatever information you had to yourself?" demanded Hector, not gratified in the least with the soldier's act of remorse. He couldn't decide who he blamed more: Lucius, for being so damnably lax in his guard or himself, for trusting the man to protect his loved ones in the first place.

Lucius struggled to compose himself. "I didn't do it out of malice; not mine or anyone else's. Lord Achilles was so underhanded about it that I had no knowledge of any of this until Lord Isidore shared his suspicions with me. He urged me not to publicly accuse him, for he was concerned about what reaction such an action would trigger. To unleash the furor of the Myrmidons while they were in the palace would have caused unspeakable destruction. Nor did I do nothing at all, sire; I challenged Lord Achilles to a duel."

His eyes glazed over as he recalled everything that happened, mentally changing the parts that he believed led to the youngest prince's abduction. "We fought and I was going to kill him no matter what," he explained. Hector raised his eyebrows in shock. "I believed that even the Greeks would find that I had no other option if we were engaged in combat at the time. It matters not anyway because he got the better of me twice; first by defeating me and then by knocking me unconscious afterwards when I tried to stop him from approaching the royal platform where Prince Paris sat. How I wish now that he would have killed me! At least then he would have been executed for spilling the blood of a noble. But instead, while I lay on the ground oblivious, he demanded his victor's prize."

"And what was that?" asked Hector apprehensively. According to Trojan law, the victor of a duel could select anything they desired – save rule of the land – as a prize. It was strictly honored, even when the victor was a foreigner. Still, he couldn't imagine Priam tolerating anyone asking for Paris as a prize.

"To sit n the place reserved for Lord Isidore at the nightly banquets."

"Right next to Paris," breathed Hector in despair, "and the king could not refuse without insulting the Greek visitors."

Lucius nodded grimly. I kept a close watch on Lord Achilles every evening," he reported. "He never so much as tried to speak to Prince Paris and the prince always found an excuse to leave early and escape from his side. Then, two nights ago, the Myrmidons – _all_ of them – pulled a most deceptive trick and slipped out of the city. We did not even realize that they'd departed until the following morning."

Hector remained silent. The fact that all the Myrmidons played such an active role in the scheme felt ominous and did nothing to soothe his nerves.

"I shouldn't have stopped until he was dead!" lamented Lucius, "even if it meant slaying him in his sleep. Such a thing would have been a great dishonor, but that means nothing now. Damn my honor! What is that compared to the honor of Prince Paris?"

"Paris'…honor?" _'Please Apollo, don't let that mean what I think it means!'_

"He was taken from – from his bedchamber," said Lucius, his voice thick with emotion. "The condition of his bedding – it was obvious that he fought with someone while still in bed."

Hector slammed his eyes shut and clamped a hand over his mouth to muffle his anguished cry. The images of what might have happened during that struggle came unbidden to his mind. Tears stung his eyes and it took all of his willpower not to fall apart on the spot. "He cannot have – he must be – so scared," he stuttered. "This. Is. Not. Acceptable. What is being done to get him back? What has my father commanded?"

"He – he will be meeting with the nobles to discuss the best course of action," answered Lucius.

"So Achilles takes the youngest prince of Troy and two days later still nothing is being done?" cried Hector. "Paris has already run out of time!"

To this the soldier had no adequate response. Privately, it unsettled him that the king had done so little to rescue his younger son, even though the Trojan army's commander's – Hector – absence was a somewhat understandable excuse. Still, he was a loyal subject and not about to question his liege lord's decisions without sufficient cause.

"_The best course of action_," Hector continued to marvel. "Well, I'm sure that Paris is much comforted by the fact that Father is taking his time in deciding how to rescue him." He straightened his shoulders. "Where is my father?"

"He is at his private alter," Lucius informed him. "The king has been praying to Apollo since after he dealt with the remaining Greeks."

Without another word, Hector bolted from the bench and took off at a run, racing through the corridors of the palace. A person he passed by would occasionally call out, trying to get his attention, but he was oblivious to everything but getting to his father. Ignoring the cries of protests from the guards posted outside the entryway to Priam's private later, he threw the doors open and rushed inside.

King Priam spun around, startled by the abrupt and noisy entrance of his son. He thought he'd subdued that undignified part of him a long time ago! "Hector!" he exclaimed. "What is the meaning of all this?"

"I just heard about Paris," Hector said hurriedly. "How could something like this happen? Do you have any notion of how we're going to save him? I'm back now; I can –"

"Be silent!" Priam snapped the order that Hector was very much familiar with while waving his hand as if he were batting away an insect. He looked from his son to the guards standing in the doorway. "There are some matters that I need to discuss with the prince. Leave us."

After the doors slammed shut Priam turned his cold eyes back to his son. "Hector," he lectured, his facial features pinched with disapproval. This was always the way that he spoke to him when he was displeased with something that he'd done and it made Hector feel like a child standing in the shadow of a giant. "Your _display_ was disgraceful. Ranting like a madman, bursting into a sacred place, and – by Apollo, your eyes are red. Have you been crying?"

Hector winched at his father's tone and hastily wiped his eyes. "One of the soldiers –"

"What? It is not enough that you break down but you must also show your weakness in public?" Priam interrupted, his voice saturated with condescension. "This may be a new low for you, and that is quite a feat indeed. You are thirty years old, not a child; and I expect you to act with a little more decorum."

"I am sorry, Father," apologized Hector as he took deep breaths in an effort to calm himself. "My only excuse is that I was so surprised by the news of what happened to Paris. Is there any information that you thought was best to keep from the army? Do you know for sure that he is with Achilles?"

"Your brother," said Priam grimly, "was taken two nights ago by Achilles, of that we are certain. I don't know what condition he is in now, but it is painfully evident that whatever occurred at the time of his abduction was extremely violent. Lord Isidore's two personal guards were found slaughtered on his bedchamber floor."

"Lord Isidore's guards? What were they doing there?"

Priam cast a condemning glare his way. "I image that they were doing what the guards trained by you and under your command could not," he replied. "That guard at his door was so incompetent that he was knocked unconscious before he even got a good look at the attackers; but what else should I have expected from one of your troops? We wouldn't even know for certain the identity of his abductor if it weren't for that urchin servant."

"Julian?" interrupted Hector, recalling the loyal servant child that waited on Paris in the evenings before he retired to bed.

"Don't interrupt," scolded Priam with a snap in his tone. "Yes, I believe that's his name, the worthless little piece of filth. He was found cowering behind the dressing curtain in your brother's bedchamber. No one knows what all he witnessed or why he didn't even try to go for help, but at least he named the attacker. _'Lord Achilles took the prince'_ is all that he's said and no bribe or threat can convince him to tell more."

That was something that Hector could understand. Priam was not compassionate and patient; and the guards and soldiers could get downright vicious when the well being of a member of the royal family was at stake. The ten-year-old boy was probably terrified. "Perhaps I could coax a few more words out of him," he volunteered with desperate eagerness. "Where is Julian now?"

"That is none of your concern."

"None of my concern?!" blurted out Hector.

"I will handle this," Priam proclaimed darkly as his territorial instincts heightened. "Paris is mine to protect and govern."

"Well you haven't been doing a very good job of it lately, now have you?" shrieked Hector, who was becoming quite hysterical. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew that he'd regret this but he couldn't stop the words from flying out of his mouth. "It was you who invited Achilles here! You even let him sit next to Paris at the feasts every single night. How could you _not _see that his intentions were not honorable? Did you really believe that he'd act in a rational and civil manner when he was denied what he desired, or were you so obsessed with hording more power that you were willing to let that slip? Did you even bother to watch him at all? How could you let that Grecian monster waltz out of the palace, through the city gates, down to the beach, and onto a ship with a battered Paris in tow?"

Priam backhanded his son. Hector tasted blood in his mouth. "How dare you?" the kind hissed. "It was not _I_ that trained the gate guards to apparently let anyone leave the city no matter what. I wasn't the one who was so inept at bending some ignorant Greek 'king' to this will of Troy that I was delayed from returning when I was needed most. Do not blame me for your own failures, Hector, for they are many."

He narrowed his eyes. "I have done everything in my vast power to protect Paris from the moment he was born," Priam continued. "I protect him from your sin, did I not? Imagine the scorn, ridicule, and shame he would receive if everyone knew your little secret."

Hector bowed his head, ashamed to look his father in the eye as he remembered his own selfish intentions toward the boy.

"Andromache is in the main garden with Astyanax," Priam told him coldly. "Go there and cease your attempts to gain access to Paris. I will _never _let that happen. Attend to Astyanax, YOUR son, and I will attend to Paris, MY son. Get out of my sight."

Too worn down to argue any longer, Hector turned silently and left the room.

To be continued…

_A/N: FYI (just in case), I know nothing about specific Trojan law and that whole "victor's prize" thing was just a plot device - absolutely fictional._


	3. Under the king's nose

King Odysseus of Ithaca was many things. Most people were aware that he was sly, diplomatic, and able to convince even the most stubborn of fools to do exactly what he wanted them to do while making them think that it was their idea all along. It was those skills and traits that had earned him the moniker of _old fox_ from Achilles. It was also what had enabled him to save himself and his men from the wrath of the Trojans after Achilles saw fit to deceive them all and slip away from Troy during the night with the city's youngest prince in tow. He was proud of those gifts and made certain that they were kept sharp and well-practiced.

What wasn't so readily spoken about was his stunning amount of patience. It was certainly never counted as a glamorous or exciting character trait, but it served Odysseus remarkably well and at the moment he was as grateful for it as he was for any other than he possessed. Any other man in his position would have done something idiotically rash by now. They might have screamed at King Priam for playing a more prominent part – unwitting as it had been – in the flight of the Myrmidons than the Ithacans did and then having the gall to threaten them. Or else they might have tried to fight their way out of that wretched city, sail across the Aegean, and do battle with Achilles and his men over their damnable betrayal without sufficient planning. Either scenario would have obviously ended with the needless slaughter of his men and Odysseus was humble enough to know that his restraint so far most likely would have been exercised by any leader with a little bit of impulse control and rational thought. No; the matter in which Ithaca's king praised his patience in at the moment concerned Prince Hector, who'd just dashed by while ignoring his calls. He was confident in his assumption that any other leader in such a precarious situation would have finally snapped at that and stormed after the prince, demanding an audience for a little talk.

He certainly wouldn't have faulted anyone for such a course of action, but he was patient and canny enough to take the more prudent road. The prince had obviously found out about Prince Paris' disappearance and the role that Achilles had played in it (the official version, at any rate) and would not react kindly to any Greek that he came across, especially one that was behaving as if he were a victim in all of this. He was running in the direction of his father's private alter, meaning that he wanted to understand the situation better before condemning those who remained in the city and that gave Odysseus hope. Hindering him now would only draw his hostility and suspicions, and he needed Prince Hector's cooperation if there was any hope in rectifying the situation as best as it could be. He was determined to use that patience that was rarely celebrated but always present and wait until he came back that way again to capture his attention.

The Fates, however, apparently had other plans for him. "My king!" shouted one of his men as he came quickly from the opposite direction that the prince had headed off in. Odysseus braced himself when he heard the alarm in the soldier's voice. "I'm sorry, my lord, but it's happening again. Some of the Trojan guard were very rudely questioning our honor and jeering at us that we should be rotting in cells or hanging by the gates by now. We know your commands, but a few of the younger ones – well, they have difficulty in just sitting there and enduring such abuse…"

Odysseus sighed and followed the soldier back to where the altercation was taking place. Some of his men did not possess the patience that he did and clung too tightly to the notion that defending insults to one's honor was more important than whatever good may come from putting up with it for a short while. He could forgive them for that as he once again reined in the more hotheaded of his men before smoothing things over with the Trojan guards by using the same traits that got him labeled _old fox_ by the very same Greek that the guards actually hated. It was the responsibility of his men to carry out his orders as best they could. It was his responsibility to see to it that every Ithacan in Troy left those shores alive and he took that very seriously.

That responsibility sometimes cost him opportunities. By the time he'd dealt with the situation sufficiently enough to ensure that there wouldn't be a heated fight the second his back was turned and returned to his original position, Prince Hector was just passing out of sight. He was heading in the direction of the main garden, no doubt to see Andromache and Astyanax; Odysseus recalled catching a glimpse of mother and son sitting on a bench out there when he passed by. The image of the pair transformed into Penelope and Telemachus, his own wife and son, and he felt a kinship with the prince. He certainly wouldn't like it if a perceived potential enemy delayed a reunion with his family after being parted from them for so long. Fine then; he would wait a little while longer while Prince Hector had his time with his family. Then the time for them to have a discussion of their own would finally be at hand.

_OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO_

A beautiful scene awaited Hector when he finally stepped foot into the large garden that looked out over the sea. Andromache was seated on a stone bench with Astyanax in her lap. The child was smiling up at her and gripping a strand of her long brown hair in his tiny fist as she sang to him. The song she'd selected was silly, something that was considered by King Priam to be too ridiculous for a royal heir that she often sang anyway. She held firmly to the fact that Astyanax was _her_ _and Hector's _son and while the king's opinions couldn't be wholly ignored, they would not stop her from raising him in the manner that she felt best. Andromache was all too familiar with the emotional pain that Priam inflicted daily on his own son's and was determined to protect Astyanax from such a fate. Hector admired that conviction and loved her all the more for it.

It was such a lovely image that the prince didn't say anything for a moment, choosing instead to absorb it into his mind and soul and store it in his heart. "I've had this dream before," he said at last, smiling as she looked up at him in surprise. "It keeps me company on those long nights away and tempts me to forsake all my duties to see you both again."

Andromache rose and rushed to embrace him. "My dear husband," she sighed contentedly. "I never realize just how long you've been gone until you come back. Thank Apollo you're home!" Sadness crept into her eyes. "I wish that you could have been greeted with better circumstances."

He returned the embrace, planting one kiss on her mouth and another on Astyanax's forehead. "I only wish that I'd come home earlier," he lamented. "Perhaps I could have discouraged Achilles and the Myrmidons for committing this shameful act."

"Hector," she started, something between comfort and scolding in her tone.

"How do you two fare?" he asked, eager to interrupt before she could begin another of her speeches about being too hard on himself. She meant well and only sought to support him but he needed to be reminded of his failures in order to stop himself from doing something stupid or acting too cocky. "Have the Greeks harmed you in any way?"

"We are fine," she assured him. "I've rarely even seen our guests and the ones that I do encounter have been courteous enough. Paris is the one that we should be worrying about now."

"I cannot believe that something like this has happened," he murmured in distress as the image of Paris being starved…beaten…raped continued to torment him. "I didn't– "

Hector cut himself off suddenly. His father was right; he was weak for letting his emotions get the better of him time and time again. After years of keeping his darkest secret hidden he almost let it spill because he was too upset to think clearly! He cringed internally at Andromache's curious look and berated himself for not being as strong as she was. "Have you heard any more news?" he asked hastily.

"I'm not the one to ask that," she replied, assessing him with her wise eyes and deciding that now was not the time to pry. "No one is willing to share any more news or details with me than absolutely necessary. I suspect that they're trying to protect me from the brutal truth, but not letting me know what's going on only makes me think of all the horrible things that could have happened and might be happening now. Have you not spoken with your father yet?"

"I did."

"What did he say?"

Hector sighed. "Only that Achilles took Paris and that I am to stay out of it."

"So he's just going to leave your brother at the mercy of a man who broke into his bedchamber and dragged him away in the middle of the night?" demanded Andromache in outrage. She was well aware of the fact that Priam had an inexplicable obsession with making sure that his sons had nothing to do with each other but she'd never thought that even he would be willing to do such an unspeakable thing just to keep them separated.

"No, it's not that," he protested automatically though his heart wasn't in it. "He just – wants to handle this situation and all, him being Paris' – _father_ – and all."

Andromache shot him an exasperated frown. "I don't pretend to understand your father's reasons for preventing the two of you from having a relationship," she declared, "but whatever they may be, they don't matter now. Paris adores you and I know you love him. Do you really think it's going to be your father who goes to rescue him?"

"Andromache…"

"He needs you, Hector," she insisted, staring into his eyes while placing a gentle hand on his arm. "Paris doesn't need the king, he needs _you_."

Hector acknowledged the truth of her words, knowing that she didn't realize just how deeply they'd moved him. He glanced out over the sea that had carried Paris away and steeled his resolve to disobey the king. "You're right," he told her, "but I can I help him without Father trying to stop it?"

"You have earned the unwavering loyalty of many of the guards and soldiers," he offered.

"I do not want to force my men to choose between obeying me and obeying their king," he hedged. "That could place them in a lot of danger."

"I doubt that King Priam has told them anything about _not_ heeding your orders. In fact," she added slyly, "the guards – _your_ men – that are currently posted outside of the room where Julian's being held are growing restless at all the inaction and would be happy to do whatever you asked of them. I believe that would be a good starting point."

Hector smiled at her as she sat back down on the bench where, unbeknownst to either of them, an important event that led to the Myrmidons' flight with Paris took place. "Thank you."

The smile that Andromache returned was grim. "Hurry."

_OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO_

Obviously, no one had told Odysseus where Prince Paris' young servant, Julian, was being held but it really wasn't all that difficult to figure out. He wouldn't be allowed to stay in the common servants' quarters where he'd be free to regale that lower class with the tale of the princes' disappearance before he confessed all to the king. They would isolate him and the perfect place for that would be in one of those awful anonymous chambers scattered around the palace that were reserved for encounters with the palace prostitutes. After discreetly following Prince Hector and overhearing his intention to speak to the boy Odysseus decided that it would be best for them to "accidentally" meet on the way there.

Hector scowled at the Greek king who was standing just out of sight, waiting for…him? _'Why are he and his men _not _imprisoned?'_ he wondered bitterly. Even a blundering dolt like Menelaus had seen that Achilles trusted Odysseus above all others, save his Myrmidons. Surely he must have had some knowledge of his plot to abduct Paris!

"What do you want, Greek?" he hissed.

"You are Prince Hector, are you not?" inquired Odysseus _very_ politely. Though not easily quailed by another man's temper – numerous dealings with Achilles at his most volatile had long since tamed any of those fears – the Trojan prince's fury made him think twice about what was appropriate to say and once more before he actually voiced it.

"I am," Hector replied shortly. "What else do you want? I may just sound terribly suspicious, but I'm finding that the Greeks of any city have the tendency to want more than they ask for and desire more than what they should expect to receive."

Odysseus sighed inwardly. He knew that this wouldn't be easy. "I am sorry for what happened to your brother," he said diplomatically.

"Are you now?" sniped Hector sarcastically. He was not going to play political games at a time like this! "Well, you're apologies are doing much to save Paris, are they?"

"No, they aren't," Ithaca's king conceded. "But I have information that concerns the well being of Prince Paris that I believe is key to mending this whole unfortunate matter."

"Information that you've been keeping a secret!" Hector was livid. "You dishonorable filth! Did you decide not to share it with my father in the hopes of extorting some kind of wealth from me now?" He took a threatening step forward. "Is that why Achilles kidnapped Paris? Was that the scheme all along?"

"Your father already knows about this!" Odysseus insisted. _'A part of it, in any case,'_ he added silently. "He just doesn't believe that it has anything to do with what happened when it has _everything_ to do with it. I'm coming to you with this in the hopes that it will sound more compelling coming from you than from me."

Hector didn't say anything so Odysseus took the opportunity to press on. "I have a family – a wife and young son – that I love. If there is anything I can do to help your family I will do it. Please, Prince Hector."

"Very well," Hector bristled, unable to turn down any source of information even if it was from a potential conspirator. He sized up the Greek and a thought suddenly occurred to him: Andromache had told him of 'courteous' encounters with Greeks. Judging by his demeanor and familial situation, it seemed more than likely that those encounters had been with Odysseus. "My wife tells me that you've spoken with her."

"I have," Odysseus told him simply. She hadn't, of course; he'd eavesdropped on every word of their conversation and knew that she'd never named him. Hector was testing his honesty and thankfully he had nothing to conceal with respect to Andromache. "She reminds me of my own wife – strong, lovely, and loyal – and seeing her with your son eased some of the pain I feel at being separated from them for so long. I hope I've done no offense to you or her because I meant none."

"She is in the main garden with my son now," said Hector. "I'm loath to send you there, but it's probably the only private place where you and I can speak without arousing suspicions and you can't wait for me here without being caught soon enough. Can I trust that you won't carry them off while I question a servant?"

Odysseus wisely chose not to respond to the barely veiled accusation. "I'll meet you there," he promised, and left while thinking about the fact that he was going to tell Hector all of what he had to say in the very location where all of this officially began.

_OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO_

Hector continued the rest of the way down the corridor to the heavily-guarded chamber door. Without anyone uttering a single word, the guards opened the door and gave way to allow him to enter. "I am not in here," he instructed them emphatically. "I was never here. And do not open this door to anyone while I'm 'not' in here, unless it is the king himself and you have no other choice."

With a curt nod, a guard slammed the door shut and Hector turned around to face Julian. The ten-year-old boy cowered in the corner, petrified. "Please – please d-d-don't hurt me," he begged pitifully.

Hector sat down on the floor, mindful to keep a sufficient distance between the two of them. It was plain to see that the boy had been handled roughly in the hopes of getting him to divulge more information but it had only served to terrify him more. He silently cursed whoever had done it, no matter what frustrations and desperation had driven them to do so – he needed Julian to speak freely, not be afraid that he'd be beaten for saying the wrong thing.

"I won't hurt you," he vowed in his kindest tone. "Please just be honest; you have my word that you will not be punished for it."

Julian didn't respond. Time for another tactic. "Julian, you're loyal to Paris, are you not? You don't want him to be in danger, do you?"

"He was n-n-n-nice to me," the boy trembled. "I only want him to – to be safe and happy."

"Well, Julian, the only way that can happen is if you tell me everything you saw the night that Achilles kidnapped him," coaxed Hector. "And since I want him to be safe and happy too, I won't be angry about anything you say."

Julian lifted his face to look at the prince. Hector could see the tear stains on his cheeks. "I'm sorry," he whimpered. "I didn't mean to see. I shouldn't have spied!"

That response bewildered Hector. He'd assumed that Julian's silence was due not only to the fear of punishment but also from the trauma of witnessing Paris endure such an act of violence without being able to help. He never considered until that moment that it might have come from guilt about actually seeing it happen. "You didn't mean to see what?" he asked. "What shouldn't you have seen?"

To be continued…


	4. Some answers only lead to more questions

_Julian's first-person p.o.v. recollection to Hector_

"The night was just like any other one at first – Prince Paris came back from the festivities earlier than everyone else and I was sent for to help him get ready for bed. He was quieter than usual, and that's saying something, but that was to be expected; he hadn't been feeling well as of late and just before he retired some drunken Greek tried to make him dance with him. I – I don't like the Greeks. I wish they would just go away because they confuse things and make them what they're not supposed to be. But anyway, the only really different thing that happened before the prince dismissed me was that he kissed my forehead when he thanked me and told me goodnight. Maybe I should have thought more about it, but I was too surprised to do that.

After all of that I went to leave out of the servants' door like I'm supposed to do. I got all the way down the corridor and even opened the door that leads out into the palace when I realized that I'd dropped my wooden goat, the one that my father carved for me. I know that I shouldn't have gone back to the prince's bedchamber without his permission but he'd just got done telling me not to lose it. He said that it was more special than all the treasure in Troy because it was a gift from my father! How could I not go back for it after Prince Paris said something like that – what if I didn't and he found it later and thought that I wasn't taking his words seriously? I had no intention of bothering him anyway, so I closed the door before a draft could come through and hurried as quietly as I could back.

I found it right behind the dressing curtain that's sort of in front of the entryway to the corridor and I should have left as soon as I got it, but I didn't because of what I saw. Prince Paris wasn't asleep or even in bed like I thought he'd be. He didn't see me because of the dressing curtain and also because he was staring out of the window anyway. I was so worried about him – he's never been _happy_ really but I've never seen him look that confused and troubled. Of course it's not really my place to notice or say such things but since it's my job to take care of Prince Paris I try to keep track of his moods. Well, that drunken Greek had upset him plenty but still he wasn't worth all that turmoil and I guess I knew that there was more behind it.

As he was staring and I was fretting, the main door suddenly opened. That was strange enough because I _know_ the guard locked it when Prince Paris came in. Nobody's supposed to be in there at all except for the prince and me when I'm working and most definitely not at that hour of the night. I was even more surprised when I saw that it was Lord Achilles who was coming in. I know that I should have gone for help right then and there but I didn't want to leave the prince alone with him.

For his part, Prince Paris didn't turn around, not even when Lord Achilles came right up behind him and pressed his body against his. Now I may not know much about how lords are supposed to act around princes but that's just something that he shouldn't have done! Even if it is proper among the nobility, Lord Achilles is a Greek and he can't go around touching a Trojan prince like that, right? But he did, and he wrapped his arms around his waist too.

'I missed you,' Lord Achilles murmured, which made the whole situation even more appalling. It's bad enough that he was pressing up against him but he also started talking to him with a proper greeting, like they were friends or something. He lifted up the bottom of the prince's sleeping robe to his thigh and then stuck his hands underneath. Prince Paris gasped but still didn't say anything. The hands started to move – I could see them doing so under his garment – and the prince started moaning.

'Do you like this?' asked Lord Achilles; he sounded like he was purring! Without waiting for an answer he opened his mouth and pressed it against the prince's neck. That's – that's – he's not supposed to do those kind of things to the prince!

'Yes,' Prince Paris finally said, but he was having a really hard time speaking. Then he let out this weird cry: 'Oh Apollo! Yes, there! Please!'

Lord Achilles smiled and I could see him moving his hands faster and faster while he kept on kissing and licking the prince's neck. Pardon me for saying so but dogs are supposed to lick, not people. Poor Prince Paris – he couldn't seem to say anything at all. He was moaning a lot and his breathing grew frantic. I've never seen anyone in such a fit before! I was afraid he was going to faint, but Lord Achilles wasn't going to go get a healer when that happened and I didn't think it would be a good idea to leave the prince all unconscious and alone with him after all of what he was doing. If he did stuff like that when Prince Paris was awake, who knows what he would do to him when he wasn't?

'You're close,' said Lord Achilles, though I can't imagine what he meant by that. Of course the prince knew how close he was to the Greek! 'Let me hear your release,' he urged on.

Prince Paris let loose a strangled shout and went limp against him. I thought he was going to slump to the floor but Lord Achilles had a good hold on him and kept him up and against him. Whatever was making it difficult for him to breathe must have passed somehow because he was panting so hard that I could see his chest moving up and down.

Once his knees didn't look so shaky, Lord Achilles let go of Prince Paris' waist and slid his hands up his body to mess with the clasp of his sleeping robe around his neck. 'Your garment is dirty,' he proclaimed. I swear by Apollo and every other god on Olympus that it's not true, Prince Hector! I make sure that all of the prince's unwashed clothing is out of his bedchamber and sent down to the washing women every single night and I would never, _ever_, give him a soiled robe to sleep in. Lord Achilles apparently thought otherwise because he continued, "You shouldn't wear such a sticky robe to bed."

The robe suddenly slipped off of Prince Paris' body and fell to the floor all around his feet. I'm so sorry – I didn't mean to see the prince naked! Lord Achilles shouldn't have either, but he, well he was _looking_, if you know what I mean. Then the prince turned around and I thought that Greek would look some more where he shouldn't have been but he didn't; he was only staring into Prince Paris' eyes and nowhere else. They got all pressed up against each other again and kissed on the mouth for a really long time.

'Do you remember what I taught you?' the lord asked when their mouths finally parted.

'Yes,' replied the prince with a nod.

'Show me.' And then Lord Achilles led Prince Paris over to the bed. He sort of stopped for a second like he was thinking about something and then sat down on the edge of the bed, adjusting his waist cloth in an odd way and spreading his legs apart. After that he reached behind him on the bed, grabbed a pillow like he was allowed to just take things off of there without asking permission first, and handed it to the prince while grabbing him and pulling him even closer. The prince put the pillow on the floor and got down on his knees right between the lord's legs. That's not right, sire; no Trojan prince should have to kneel before anyone, especially not a Greek! I could tell that he didn't want to do it at all because he started looking really nervous.

Lord Achilles reached out, cupping Prince Paris' face with one hand and stroking his hair with the other. It was very…gentle. I've heard so many stories about Lord Achilles the brute and Lord Achilles the merciless warrior, but never something that made it seem possible that he would do something so tender. 'Just like I taught you,' he whispered so softly that I had to strain to hear him. 'And remember that I love you no matter what.'

The look on Prince Paris' face – it was like that was just the thing he needed to hear, even though I thought he probably should have been offended at how forward Lord Achilles was being. After that he licked his lips and stuck his head under the lord's waist cloth! The lord's knees were blocking my view of what exactly he was doing under there but I could see that his head was moving and hear him making strange sucking and groaning noises. Whatever it was, it was making Lord Achilles come all undone; he was moaning and babbling things like: 'Oh, yes Paris!' and 'There. Use your tongue – yes, like that! By the gods, you're a good pupil.'

He finally managed to get a hold of his senses and grabbed the prince's shoulders. Prince Paris moved his head so that he could look up at him and I saw how flushed his cheeks had gotten in such a short amount of time. I thought that a fever had come upon him and that's why he was acting so odd. I'd hoped that Lord Achilles had noticed as well and was going to leave to let him get some rest, but all he said was, 'Do you have the oil that I gave you?'

Prince Paris gave him this look; I swear it was just like the ones that this girl named Daphne gives me all the time. When she does, I have to chase her around or else my friends will say that I – I _like_ her. 'It's right in here,' he replied, getting up and walking to the chest of drawers by the head of the bed. He was, he was, well, he was _hard_, if you follow me. I'm sorry! It was so wrong of me to see him in such a state!

He opened up the top drawer and pulled out a vial to show to the lord. Lord Achilles looked as pleased as anything, like it was some grand gift or something. 'Will you join me on the bed?' he asked, sounding quite sly. Well, I imagine that I'd sound sly too if I was inviting a prince of Troy to get into his own bed like it was mine. Prince Paris didn't seem to mind, though; he just climbed right up in there. Lord Achilles removed his garments as quickly as he could – he was all _hard_ too, and that was very inappropriate – and practically leapt onto the bed too.

I couldn't see them anymore – because of the bed's canopy I wouldn't have been able to get a look without coming out from behind the dressing curtain – but I could hear them. The prince was laughing! He was actually laughing, Prince Hector, and he sounded so happy. That's when I realized that it was the first time that I've ever heard him laugh at all. Oh, I suppose that someone doesn't really have a lot to laugh about when he's getting ready for bed, but I've been tending to him for two years and I've never heard so much of a titter out of him. I've seen him around the palace at times too, and he's never looked anything but sad. Then I thought more about it and I realized that he _didn't_ look unhappy at all that night after the lord came in and started touching him. All of that sadness and confusion seemed to just drain away. I don't understand why that is.

'You laugh!' Lord Achilles teased him, but he didn't sound cruel or anything. 'You won't do so when you can feel me at the back of your throat.'

Like I said before, I couldn't see them but I could certainly hear them. They were really carrying on with all that moaning, crying out, and babbling – and not being very quiet about it at all. The prince would say stuff like, 'More! Harder! Oh gods, yes! My lo-' well, you know, on like that. Meanwhile, Lord Achilles was muttering things too, such as, 'So tight,' whatever that's supposed to mean. Suddenly Prince Paris shouted out 'Achilles!' and groaned loudly. A second later, the lord cried out Prince Paris' name – _not_ using his proper title, I might add – and grunted.

After all of that all I could hear for a long time was the sound of deep breathing. I thought that the prince was finally going to be allowed to get the rest that he needed, but that wasn't the case. Just when I was wondering if now was the right time to go and get a guard or someone, I heard the covers moving and saw Lord Achilles stepping out of bed. He picked up his clothing off the floor and dressed quickly before turning back. 'Where do you keep your clothing?' he asked.

'In that closet,' the prince answered him. Lord Achilles marched right over to the closet and starting pulling out garments. It was a very rough way to handle such expensive things and Prince Paris must have thought so too because he asked, 'What are you doing?'

'We're leaving Troy tonight,' replied the lord. 'Get dressed.' I was so surprised to hear him say that because no one told me that the prince was going away! They would _have_ to tell me, since I would have to go with him and look after him like it's my job to do. Oh, it would have been scary to go anywhere with Greeks, but I couldn't just desert him like that.

Prince Paris did what the lord told him to do, but he was looking doubtful again and even a little frightened. 'I can't leave yet,' he protested. 'I haven't even had the chance to say goodbye to Hector.' I beg your pardon, my prince, but that's what he said; I would never not use your title otherwise.

'I can't protect you here much longer,' argued Lord Achilles. 'You'll be safe in my homeland. Your brother can even visit – if he behaves himself.'

At that moment the main door crashed open so hard that the frame got broken – I guess that Lord Achilles didn't lock it after he came in – and two guards that I'd never seen before burst inside. 'Prince Paris!' one of them shouted. 'We heard a strange voice…'

They stopped talking and sniffed at the air. It was then that I noticed that the room was filled with a strange fragrance. The guard that had been speaking got this really annoyed look on his face for a moment and then started _leering_ at the prince like some kind of animal. 'Well, my prince,' he sneered, making that proper title sound just like an insult, 'are you getting started a couple of years early?'

The expression that came upon Lord Achilles' face – I'm so glad that I'm not a warrior and will never have to face that during a battle! It just chilled my blood. He reached down into his boot, pulled out a long knife, and struck out at the guard, stabbing him through the neck. The other guard shouted out and grabbed at his sword but Lord Achilles got him the same way before he could even draw it.

The prince looked as shocked as I felt. 'Come,' Lord Achilles told him as he grabbed his arm. Prince Paris just stood there staring at the guards bodies, so Lord Achilles pulled him out of the room.

Even then I didn't do anything because my body wasn't cooperating and all I could do was sit there. The guards were dead and I couldn't save them. Prince Paris was gone and I couldn't get him back or go with him. I'm sorry for not going for help, but I was too stunned to even think properly. Perhaps I should've told all of this to someone sooner, but what really happened that night isn't what people think happened and I didn't want them to get mad and hurt me some more. Most of all, though; I don't think that Prince Paris wasn't anyone to know – to know that a Greek could make him that happy."

_OOOOOOOOO Normal p.o.v._

Hector left the room, giving orders that Julian was to be well cared-for and unharmed, and managed to get around the corner and out of sight before falling against the wall and sliding to the floor. It…wasn't _possible_. There was no way that what Julian had described was what truly happened that night, but the young servant boy didn't have a reason to tell such a lie. He didn't even seem to know what exactly he'd born witness to. Now he was left to face the fact that he wasn't the only one in his family who was keeping a huge secret.

Paris and Achilles had some kind of ongoing relationship between them. Two nights ago hadn't been their first encounter; from the sound of it, it was most likely that it hadn't even been Achilles' first time in Paris' bedchamber. But what did all of that mean? Achilles had told Paris that he loved him – _"no matter what"_ – and Paris apparently reciprocated. He'd called that Greek _"my love"_ and that was just as difficult for Hector to comprehend as it was for Julian to report it. Were they really in love? Actually, he had no doubt in his mind that Paris wouldn't use that word unless he meant it, but what about Achilles? Did he feel the same way or was he just playing along so that he could brag later on about his sexual conquest of the youngest prince of Troy?

The guards' behavior was even more confusing and disturbing. When they'd found Achilles – a foreigner, a _Greek_ – in Paris' bedchamber, they'd chosen to insult and leer at the prince. For all they knew, Achilles could have broken in there and they had acted disgusted with Paris, accusing him of starting something early. What was that and why did they feel like they had the right to judge someone who was their better at all? Did it have something to do with the reason why Achilles thought that Paris needed protection? The boy obviously believed him on that point; Hector had no choice but to conclude from their words that they weren't disagreeing about whether or not to leave Troy but rather when to leave it. That would mean that Paris had already agreed to run away with Achilles before the events that Julian had just described ever took place.

Letting his head fall back with a thud, Hector understood all too keenly why the young servant had cowered behind the dressing curtain all night instead of going for help or leaving and pretending that he hadn't seen or heard anything. The knowledge of all of this was numbing his mind and the questions it brought on were paralyzing. _'Achilles made Paris happy,'_ he mused dully. Sitting on that floor, all Hector could do was hope with his whole being that Paris was still happy and safe now.

To be continued…

_A/N: I just wanted to thank all of you who've taken the time to review! It means a lot to me._


	5. Who knows all the secrets

Hector didn't know how long he sat in that corridor with his back up against the wall while he stared blankly at his entwined hands, resting between his bent knees. His mind was far too occupied with what he'd just heard, trying to incorporate it into the rest of the information he'd been given about Paris' so-called 'abduction.' In one story Achilles broke into Paris' bedchamber; in another he walked in and was apparently welcome. One person said that Lord Isidore's guards were slaughtered for trying to rescue Paris; someone else observed Achilles killing them in order to defend the boy's honor. The Greek warrior was a brutal assailant; no, he was Paris' lover. And what happened on the bed – it was too hard for the Trojan prince to even think about either possibility. Hector shut his eyes but couldn't stop all of the lies and half-truths surrounding the situation from almost overwhelming his senses. Did no one know the entire truth about what took place? Could he trust any of them to tell him if they did?

The latter question was surprisingly easy to answer: yes, he could at least trust the servant boy's account of events. It was Julian who'd actually _seen_ what happened take place and from that Hector was able to deduce some uncomfortable truths. Paris wasn't startled when Achilles entered his bedchamber or started touching him – he had been expecting him, for who else but the younger prince could have unlocked the door? Achilles had taken a moment to soak in Paris' nudity but had looked primarily in his eyes – a sign of respect, perhaps? They'd spent a good deal of time kissing so affection could be interpreted as well. _'Do you remember what I taught you?'_ was the Greek's question, the one that Paris had answered affirmatively before…putting his head – between –. Hector's hands started trembling violently but he forced himself to go on to what Julian had heard but not seen: Paris had willingly had sex with Achilles.

Oh Apollo, how did all of this happen? It was baffling enough that the unlikely pair had the chance to even exchange words beyond formal greetings – let alone spending any time in each other's company away from everyone else – considering the isolation that Priam imposed on Paris and the Trojans' natural mistrust for the Greeks, although he knew all too well how inviting a few kind words sounded after being so alone for most of your life. What Hector was really having trouble comprehending was Paris choosing to go to such lengths to be with Achilles in the first place. The boy had always been nervous around strangers in general and Greeks in particular, especially after Agamemnon tried to force himself on him four years ago. It seemed strange now that a Greek – one who had previously been officially (though not actually) under the dead king's command – could make Paris happy.

A stab of jealousy twisted the prince's heart. Achilles, not Hector, was the one who could make the sadness in Paris' eyes go away. It was Achilles who could make Paris laugh. When was the last time that Paris had genuinely laughed in Hector's presence? _'When he was a child,'_ he guessed; before people stopped seeing him as an adorable child and started seeing him as a desirable being. At a time when their secret nighttime visits could last for a couple of hours before fear of discovery would force Hector to tear himself away. Hector clung to the memory of Paris' childish giggles but had no idea what laughter from the sixteen-year-old young man that the boy had become would sound like. The only ones who did were a ten-year-old servant and a Greek who may or may not be lying about loving him.

Just focusing on the laughter and their intimacy of that night, however, would not help Hector needed understand everything in the way he needed to. What happened before then that led up to the events of two nights ago? How had Paris' romance – if it could even be called that – with Achilles began? Had he just been curious and then lost control of the situation? Did Achilles really love him or was he just trying to earn the right to brag that he'd seduced the youngest prince of Troy in the royal quarters? And those guards – where did they fit in? Where had Achilles gotten it in his head that Paris needed protection that only he could give him and why had Paris so readily agreed without even waiting to speak to Hector about whatever he was afraid of? Most importantly, how in the name of the gods was Hector supposed to find the answers to any of those questions?

So far he'd received information from two other people besides Julian: the soldier Lucius and Priam. Neither of them had any reason to lie to him and yet they couldn't be telling the truth either, according to the servant's account. But then again why should they know the entire truth when apparently no one else did? That left Hector with bits of the truth that were buried, distorted, and camouflaged with lies, deceptions, and misunderstandings. He would need to piece off of it together to find the truth, but some of the essential parts were still missing. _'Odysseus,'_ he remembered suddenly. _'Odysseus, Achilles' friend, is waiting to tell me something he thinks is rather important.'_ Perhaps the remedy for his confusion was waiting for him in the garden.

"My goodness," a condescending voice startled Hector out of his revelry. He looked up to see Lord Isidore smiling down at him but the smile wasn't friendly, kind, or even polite. His father's trusted right-hand man always treated him with disdain; openly whenever he could and discreetly needling him in the presence of others. The prince could deal with that, though; it was the way the old lord acted around Paris that made Hector's skin crawl.

"It is refreshing to see that you've finally found a fitting place for yourself within the palace walls," he continued snidely, "but I must still ask you to move. The floor in that little corner is just as filthy – perfect for wallowing with the added benefit of you being out of the way and hidden in shadows from the rest of us."

"Not now," responded Hector in a strained voice. His poor mind was already reeling from the constant shocks he'd received ever since arriving back at the city and he just didn't have the strength to put up with the man's insinuations and insults at the moment. "I'm tired and not in the mood. If you have nothing of relevance to say to me, move along."

A flash of some emotion that Hector couldn't quite read crossed over Isidore's face; it looked almost as if he'd been reminded of something he didn't like. "Such spirit," he commented, sneering. "Young Paris was displaying a little bit of a rebellious streak himself while you were away struggling not to be outwitted by the oh-so-clever Menelaus. It made him act with less care than he should have with Greeks like Achilles in our midst. Such a pity, but I imagine he learned his lesson well enough when the Myrmidons undoubtedly took their turns between his legs. Perhaps a similar punishment should await him when he's brought back to Troy; do you agree, Hector?"

Hector drew in a sharp breath. "You are the most disgusting man I've ever met," he growled, his eyes burning with hatred. "Do you think I haven't seen the way you look at Paris? The way you try to touch him? Stay away from him or I'll tell my father; he wouldn't take kindly to your revolting intentions."

"You presume a lot," replied Isidore smoothly. He ran the back of his hand over one of Hector's cheeks and enjoyed the feel of his responding sickened shudder. The elder prince didn't appeal to him as sexual conquest but Isidore still liked the feeling of dominance he was experiencing from touching him. "Disgusting and revolting, you say? You'll tattle to your daddy if I don't behave myself? I doubt you possess the nerve. Oh, Hector; your pathetic nature is an endless source of vast amusement for me. Do you know who I am?"

"A snake in the grass. A pig in fine clothing."

Isidore crouched down and leaned in closer. "I am the keeper of your family's secrets," he hissed in Hector's ear. "I know them _all_. In one breath I could tell everyone you care about – Andromache, Paris, all of those men who admire your fictional virtue – about that shameful little indiscretion of yours. Perhaps, just for fun, I should tell your father about how long and how often you've been sneaking into Paris' bedchamber at night when he's made it clear that you're not supposed to do things like that."

The prince tensed even further if that was possible and Isidore found the gasp that tore from his lips most satisfying. "Yes, I know," he purred, lightly brushing his lips against his ear. "You should thank me, Hector, because I've been allowing you to get away with it. It just seemed like a waste of my precious time trying to put a halt to such a trivial matter. A mistake, I know now, for that guard probably figured it out as well and got into a routine of leaving little opportunities for someone to slip past him. That is how Achilles was able to get into Paris' bedchamber, I'll warrant you. How would your father react if he discovered that your weakness, your inability to restrain yourself after all of these years, assisted that barbarian in ruining your brother?"

"Probably in the same way he would if he found out that you knew the extent of Achilles' feelings toward Paris and said nothing," answered Hector almost conversationally. Isidore had misjudged how he'd react to the physical intimidation. He wasn't afraid or feeling put in his place; but rather filled with a reckless type of strength. Hector could now see openly who the lord really was: a hateful, perverted man who was either not as clever or observant as he held himself to be or else opportunistic enough to learn about Paris and Achilles' relationship and not reveal it to his liege-lord without first finding a way in which it would best benefit him. Most likely, it was both.

"I knew nothing of the sort," snapped Isidore, not liking the way the conversation was turning one bit. He didn't appreciate it when people fought back against him.

"If you want to maintain such a lie don't tell the truth – or a version of it – to an honest man like Lucius," replied Hector, a nasty glee building up in his body as he felt the lord's power over him break away. "Now that I think about it, the more I found out about what really happened the more your name keeps turning up. _You_ share your 'concerns' with Lucius and thus incite him to challenge the greatest warrior in the world to a duel. _You_ end up losing your seat of honor at the banquets to Achilles as a result of said duel. _Your _guards are the only ones who miraculously get to Paris' bedchamber almost in time, say some interesting things, and get themselves killed. Why do I get the feeling that you're much more entangled in this whole affair than my father is aware of?"

"Interesting things? What exactly did they say?"

That was the first time he'd ever heard the lord's voice sound less than confident. "I guess you don't know _all _of the secrets," taunted Hector as he slowly rose to his feet.

Isidore shot up in an instant, unable to tolerate kneeling before someone he found to be so unworthy. "How adorable," he ridiculed him. "You think that now you wield some great power over me because of gossip you've picked up from your men. I'll tell you what: you just go ahead and tell Priam all about it and then listen to me deny it. Whose words do you think will hold more sway? Your father knows what you are and because of that I can say with utter certainty that he will never hold anything you say to be more truthful than what I tell him."

Hector's face screwed up in anger but Lord Isidore too distracted by movement somewhere behind him to fully take it in. "You there, boy!" he called hardly to someone over the prince's shoulder. Hector turned to see a young man with a hooked nose who didn't look much older than Paris shuffle over. "What do you think you are doing wandering aimlessly around the corridors?"

The young man played with the hem of his garment that told his position as some type of servant, though Hector couldn't place him. "I apologize, my lord," said the young man contritely while keeping his eyes firmly on the floor. "I was just looking for Red; he didn't return to the chambers this morning."

That was enough to explain to Hector why he didn't recognize him: he was one of the palace prostitutes. Each one of those unfortunate young men who were forced into that particular duty were immediately stripped of his given name in favor of simply being addressed by his most distinguishing feature, and then crammed into one chamber room away from the rest of the servants. It turned the prince's stomach to see anyone treated in such a dismissive way. His choice to not engage their services was as much of a silent protest as it was a show of respect for his relationship with Andromache.

"So one of your numbers isn't where you think he should be and that gives you the right to go wherever you please?" Isidore grabbed the young man's chin roughly and shook him. He took great care to make sure that the prostitutes understood their place and were able to perform their jobs in a pleasurable manner. It was a lesson he taught without mercy and most only needed to learn it once, but this Hook let his concern for the others push all that he'd learned out of his mind more often than not.

"I don't think that, my lord, I promise –"

"Then how do you explain yourself?" demanded Isidore unrelentingly. "Do not think that I have not noticed how lazy you have been over the last couple of days. You left the after-banquet festivities almost instantly two nights ago and did not even bother to show up at all last night. Now, the absence of one insignificant whore is not worth making a fuss over; however, if that same whore starts getting too uppity then it is time for me to give him an unmistakable reminder of his place!"

Hook cried out in pain as the lord jerked him closer, aggravating injuries that weren't fully healed. "I haven't – I just – looking for him," he sobbingly protested in a quiet, trembling voice.

"That is enough, Lord Isidore," ordered Hector with strength and authority. "I see no harm in allowing him to keep searching. Release him at once."

Damn him! Isidore resented how the prince had chosen that hour to start using his backbone. Now it put the lord in the uncomfortable position to either engage in a debate with him, demonstrating to the prostitute that not all people held his word to be law, or else back down and letting Hook think that he was weak. Looking from Hector's glare to Hook's downcast glaze, Isidore decided that the young man would know soon enough how powerful he actually was without him having to give a demonstration now by arguing with the prince. "You'd better not be lying," he threatened, squeezing Hook's chin painfully as he forced his head up. He planted a vicious kiss on the prostitute's lips, disengaging before Hector could react. "I'll know if you are. I know all the secret."

Hook immediately turned his burning face back down after the lord stormed off. He'd been used, abused, and passed around for a few years; why was he feeling so humiliated now? Being kissed like that in front of someone else shouldn't compare with what happened so recently; also in front of a one-person audience, albeit a rotating one. The fact that the audience was the kind and noble Prince Hector, however, just made him feel all-the-more dirty.

"Pay him no mind," advised Hector kindly but awkwardly.

Closing his eyes for a moment, Hook reminded himself of the one thing that could comfort him. "He doesn't know _all_ the secrets," he mumbled to himself and limped away before a stunned Hector could ask him what he meant by that.

_OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO_

Odysseus was with Andromache and Astyanax when Hector arrived once more at the garden, seated a comfortable distance away on the bench. "Yes, Telemachus was walking more," he was saying. "However, my son didn't have a vocabulary near the size of Astyanax's when he was at this age."

Their conversation halted when they noticed him standing before them. "Did you talk to Julian?" asked Andromache, smiling when he nodded in the affirmative. "What did he tell you?"

"He told me the truth," he reported dully. The idea of Paris and Achilles engaging in intercourse still made him very uncomfortable. "He – he witnessed everything that happened – accidentally, of course."

Odysseus flinched. "That poor child. The one time Achilles makes an effort to be discreet and something like that happens…"

"You knew that Paris and Achilles were intimate, didn't you?" demanded Hector even though he already knew the answer.

"What?" Andromache was absolutely floored. "How could that be?"

"They managed to build up quite a relationship during the duration of our visit," Odysseus said. "It feels a bit strange to be telling you all of this here. This garden was the place where they were alone together for the first time and where they initially chose to meet in secret. If I'm not mistaken," he added in a tone that might have been described as wistful but resigned, "this is the very bench on which they kissed for the first time."

Andromache shifted a little uneasily and Odysseus gave them both a long-suffering, tight-lipped smile. "If it's any comfort to you at all," he went on, "they really do love each other. I knew that their relationship had the capacity to destroy the negotiations and I told Achilles just that on several occasions. He would never budge, though; and he's never been that attached to anyone he's been 'romantically' involved with. I'm afraid he fell quite hard for your brother, Prince Hector."

That was probably the best answer he'd get to the question about Achilles' feelings without talking to the man himself so Hector decided to press on to other questions. "Julian said that Achilles was adamant about Paris needing protection," he told him, silently begging the Grecian king to explain the rest of the tale. "And those guards who were supposedly trying to save him spoke to Paris in such a crude and callous manner. Were they threatening him before that night?"

Odysseus struggled to find the right words while knowing that none existed. "There seemed –" he started haltingly. "What I mean to say is that he always sounded so – _odd_ – when he spoke about him."

"Who?" Hector was tense with frustration. "Achilles? A guard? A member of the nobility?"

The king of Ithaca just shook his head. "Achilles never liked him but I didn't want to believe that it was _that_ bed," he said. "I was forced to, though, after our conversation three nights ago. Perhaps I shouldn't have told Achilles about it but I was horrified and he was in love with Prince Paris. Afterwards he became obsessed with keeping him safe from…"

"Who?" roared Hector when Odysseus let his voice trail off in order to gather his nerve for what the next word would be. _"WHO, WHO, WHO?_ I am tired of half-truths, lies, and deceit! Now tell me plainly: who was such a threat to Paris that Achilles felt it necessary to remove him to Troy like that?"

'_Athena protect us all from the truth.'_ "Your father," answered Odysseus at last. "Achilles was protecting your brother from King Priam."

To be continued…


	6. Sins of the fathers

Time seemed to stop after Odysseus finally named Priam as the perceived threat to Paris' well being, the reason why Achilles had felt the need to flee with him and damn the consequences. Andromache, dumbstruck momentarily from shock, stared from her husband to Ithaca's king and back again as she inwardly agonized about the revelation. She'd never outright suspected that Priam was doing anything that was so blatantly destructive and heartless to the young man but now that she knew she didn't doubt for a minute. The king was nothing if not cruel, spending years (lifetimes, really) inflicting wounds on his sons in places where no one could see them – their minds and emotions. Paris' method of escape was fairly thoughtless and his choice of Achilles as a lover – his _first_ – was questionable and still felt dangerous, but it was difficult to fault him for it in light of this new information. If Achilles truly loved him as he apparently believed he did she would try to brush aside any preconceived notions she had and welcome him as best she could – if she ever saw either one of them again.

Meanwhile Odysseus watched Hector's reaction nervously, keenly aware that the safety of himself and his men most likely depended on the prince accepting the truth and taking action with Priam to counter it. If he didn't believe him – or worse, if he already knew and agreed with his father that Paris should be one of the palace prostitutes – the gates of Troy might as well be their tombs. Judging by the look in his eyes, though, Odysseus didn't believe that the latter was true; Hector truly looked horrified. King Priam had obviously kept his deceits carefully hidden.

'_How could one family get so twisted up in secrets and lies?'_ the Greek wondered, for he suddenly feared for his own family. No; he wouldn't let such a thing happen to them, not if he had any say in the matter. The love and trust between him, Penelope, and Telemachus was strong and he was willing to work as hard as he possibly could to maintain it. There could be no secrets worth keeping if the downward spiral currently being experienced by the Trojan royal family would be the inevitable result. Odysseus made a vow then and there to encourage honesty and understanding in all dealings with his wife and son.

Hector, unfortunately, had no such promise made to him and was left struggling with the aftermath. He opened his mouth a few times, trying to force words to come out. "My father? My father was hurting Paris in some way?" he managed to ask in a quavering voice. The turmoil in his eyes gave way to a sudden furious blaze. "That's not right. You don't understand why that can't be right."

"I know that this is difficult to hear and more so to believe," said Odysseus hastily, unable to know that Hector's mood and denials had little to do with him. "I do not relish in telling it to you either; I didn't want to believe it myself. Achilles stubbornly insisted that King Priam had terrible intentions when it came to Prince Paris but I'm a father and the idea that any father could do something like that – could _want_ it in the first place…" He looked down at Andromache and the baby, gathering his resolve before meeting Hector's stare straight on. "If I would have been honest with myself I would've admitted that there was always something about the king's relationship with your brother that made me feel uncomfortable."

"Dare I ask," said Hector in an overly civil tone that made Odysseus want to shudder, "what particular aspect of their relationship did you find so distasteful?"

"I'm not saying all of this to be cruel or condescending," Odysseus replied in what he prayed was a calming manner. "You were the one who wanted to me tell you the truth as I know it. All I'm telling you are what Achilles said and my own observations."

Hector felt ill. Truly nauseous. He wondered fleetingly if the Grecian king had ever had Trojan vomit on his sandals. When he spoke again his voice was tight and small: "And what would those observations be?"

"That King Priam seemed to view Prince Paris more as a possession than as a son," answered Odysseus. Hector flinched. _'Honest. Truthful. Steady now,'_ Odysseus encouraged himself silently as the prince's hard stare began to way heavily on him. "I am sorry if this sounds harsh, but that's certainly how he treated him. He loved to show him off – at one banquet he even ordered the prince to smile and then announced to everyone in the room to look at how beautiful the boy was, ignoring the whole time how humiliated it made him feel. Prince Paris was constantly on display but he was never allowed to mingle with us or anyone else when the king could stop it. It was plain to see that he was telling everyone to admire him but not get too close, as if he were just another gorgeous decoration for the magnificent palace. There wasn't one part of Prince Paris' life that the king didn't want to be in control of."

"He doesn't even allow Hector and Paris to have any sort of relationship," interjected Andromache almost to herself but loud enough so that both men could hear her. Odysseus was immensely grateful for her affirmation. "He's done everything he could to keep them separated since before I became a member of this family."

"As I said," continued Odysseus with a nod and small smile in her direction, "I didn't want to believe what now seems so obvious. By Athena, I even defended King Priam whenever my _discussions_ with Achilles turned to this topic. Neither of us had any more to go on except for observation and speculation; Prince Paris apparently never confided in him about all of this before three nights ago although I have no doubt that Achilles confronted him about it afterwards."

His whole being was going to fall apart – Hector knew it. His mind was in pain, his insides were vibrating, and feelings that he'd managed to control for years were clawing their way to the surface, destroying everything in their path. "Stop dancing around it," he ordered, his voice strained to the point of breaking. "I can't stand this anymore. Something happened three nights ago that totally altered your outlook on my father, something that convinced Achilles that leaving Troy with Paris like that was totally appropriate. You're going to tell me what that was _right now_."

"I will," agreed Odysseus grimly as he prepared to recall the conversation that still violently turned his stomach. "It was right after the evening's banquet…."

_Odysseus' first person p.o.v._

"_Everyone had long vacated the table and was enjoying the evening's festivities except for me. Of course, they didn't have the knowledge of what was happening between Achilles and Prince Paris strangling their senses like I did. The prince had excused himself before the last course was served, feigning a queasy stomach – how utterly fitting. Achilles managed to wait until it was over before offering his own excuse and bolting. I guessed that he was heading to Prince Paris' bedchamber and pursued him into the corridor. I begged him not to do it, not to jeopardize the peace negotiations; I even threatened to tell the king. He knew I wouldn't do such a thing unless there was absolutely no other option, including silence, and he refused to be dissuaded._

_After he marched off to basically destroy everything I came here to do I stumbled back into the banquet hall and sat down at the table. While going over all of it again and again in my mind my gaze fell on Prince Paris' chair – his _empty_ chair. I was so caught up in wondering what horrors would be in store for all of the Greeks should King Priam discover just why his son's chair was vacant that I didn't hear him come over and sit down next to me._

'_Good evening King Odysseus,' he said. 'Are you not enjoying yourself? I have always heard that you Greeks get much pleasure out of this sort of celebration and entertainment. Do you find the music and prostitutes of my palace unworthy in some fashion?'_

'_It's not that,' I responded. 'I was just letting my thoughts run out of my control.'_

_He followed my stare and his jaw tightened. 'Thoughts about my Paris?' he demanded, sounding quite affronted. He didn't even want someone thinking about your brother without his permission. 'How presumptuous and bold of you.'_

_There was no use in denying that Prince Paris occupied my mind but I believed it would be prudent to dispel his obvious belief that I was thinking anything inappropriate. The truth, then, was not an option so I chose to lie. 'He is sixteen, is he not?' I asked and he nodded. 'I was just wondering why a boy of his age and high station was not training to take his place among the great leaders and soldiers of the Trojan army. Your eldest son has the respect and fear of all of the people of the Aegean and I just thought that Prince Paris would be eager to follow in Hector's footsteps. Is he still considered to be too young?'_

'_Paris is not going to follow in Hector's footsteps,' King Priam replied through gritted teeth. 'There is absolutely no reason why something like that should occur.'_

'_I apologize if my assumptions offended you in any manner,' I said quickly, not expecting that kind of response. 'I only meant that Prince Paris would make a fine warrior.'_

'_That only shows how little you know about Trojan life,' retorted the king firmly as if my notion was entirely absurd. 'Paris is not going to be a warrior. I have watched him for many years and it has become unmistakably clear that he is destined to fulfill a different role in Trojan society.'_

_What other occupation besides being a member of the army would be suitable for a king's son? 'Do you think that he should become a priest of Apollo?' I guessed, though I cringed at the possibility of him saying yes. If Prince Paris were a priest he would not be afforded the freedom needed for him to continue his relationship with Achilles and I knew that Achilles wouldn't hesitate to defile the temple of any god or goddess if it was the only way he could get to him._

_King Priam gave a quiet snort at that. 'No,' he scoffed. 'I have the utmost reverence for the god Apollo and would never presume to sully his temple and priest robes like that. Paris simply does not possess the purity of body and mind that being a priest would require.'_

_Panic flooded my mind for a moment before self-preservation took over. After all, I had done everything I could to stop Achilles. I wasn't about to let him drag down the Ithacans with him after he was caught. 'Oh,' I said, trying my best to sound surprised but also nonchalant. 'I was not aware that he was involved with anyone. Is he to enter into a politically advantageous marriage then?'_

'_He's not,' answered the king._

_I was relieved to hear that, both for the implication that the affair was still a secret and because of the fact that Achilles wouldn't yet be able to cause an even more catastrophic political incident by interfering with any marriage treaties that King Priam had planned. I was about to ask him why he was questioning Prince Paris' purity when I noticed that his attention was no longer on me and our conversation. He was starting over at the door with a slight frown on his face. I turned and saw Lord Isidore standing over there with a green-eyed prostitute. The boy was shaking slightly and that seemed to displease the lord. He shook him a little and the boy bowed his head and nodded, giving no resistance as Lord Isidore dragged him away._

_Beside me, the king stopped frowning and gave a curt nod of approval. 'For a moment I thought that prostitute had forgotten his place,' he commented. 'I do hope that my Paris will not be such a problem when the time comes.'_

_I started to agree when his words sunk in and I realized what he'd just said. 'Boys that age can be a little stubborn and willful,' I tried to laugh; it sounded more like I was being strangled. I begged every god and goddess there is that I was just misinterpreting what h was saying. 'I'm sure that Prince Paris will be an apt learner and quickly excel in whatever occupation you've selected for him.'_

'_You Greeks are just a lot of simple beings, aren't you?' the king smirked. 'Must I clarify? I meant that I hope that Paris doesn't try to resist Isidore when he orders him into bed – my friend does not like it when his orders are not obeyed, although it might be a valuable lesson for Paris to learn. Do not look so taken aback, King Odysseus; you should know that being a blood relation to the most powerful king in the Aegean does not exempt one from his destiny. He cannot fight what he was born to be. Have you _not_ seen that beautiful face, slender body, and those perfect long legs? Lords and kings would surrender much of their wealth, areas of land, and the bulk of their power if they could have one night with those legs wrapped around their bodies in exchange.'_

_He turned to me again and I could see no turmoil or insanity in his face; we might as well been discussing the weather as far as he was concerned. 'Some people were meant to be warriors,' he stated matter-of-factly. 'Some were meant to be priests; others scholars. My beautiful Paris is meant to serve Troy as a whore. I've guessed as much from the moment he was born and became certain of it when his loveliness began enticing men and inspiring their lusts. His training in the arts of pleasure will begin in about two years.'"_

_Normal p.o.v._

Andromache clamped her hand over her mouth to muffle the cry of shock. To hear just how cold-blooded her father-in-law truly was revolted her.

"I was horrified to hear a father speak about his own child in such a cavalier and _sick_ way," Odysseus concluded. "Looking back now I realize that perhaps it wasn't the best decision to tell Achilles about this exchange but I was so aghast that I wasn't thinking clearly. You must understand, Prince Hector; that night was the first time that he and Prince Paris had ever made love to each other. He hated leaving your brother after that as it was, and hearing someone call the person he loved a whore drove him into a rage. I considered myself fortunate that he didn't storm out then and there to kill King Priam and pressed my luck by begging him not to do anything rash. I thought that I'd managed to convince him, but apparently all of my pleas and advice was of no consequence when he was so focused on protected Prince Paris."

Hector had remained silent throughout Odysseus' recollection; digging his fingernails into his palms instead and drawing blood. "That's not how it's supposed to be," he whispered tightly.

Andromache gasped at the sight of his bloodied hands. "Hector!"

"That's not how it's supposed to be!" Hector repeated, his volume rising as his body shook with rage. _"My father said that he was protecting Paris from me!"_

"What?" Achilles' suspicions that Hector was somehow involved with Priam's plans for Paris tormented Odysseus as he tried to make sense of what the prince was saying.

Words tumbled out of Hector's mouth in an uncontrolled rant. "Because of what I did – I trusted – a whore? – Ianthe – Paris – Alexandros – and now he thinks – my shame – supposed to protect – tainted with _my _sin!"

Hector whipped around and charged blindly out of the garden. Odysseus and Andromache, bewildered and spooked by his behavior, followed, struggling to keep up with his relentless pace. As they progressed through the palace halls the two realized where he was leading them.

"My husband!" cried Andromache when they arrived at the door that opened to their final destination. No good could come from this with him in the state that he was in!

"Prince Hector!" protested Odysseus at the same time. This wasn't what he'd been trying to provoke when he told the prince the whole sorted tale.

Hector paid no attention to either one of them. Without hesitating for even a second he threw the doors open and stormed into his father's court, where the nobles and high-ranking soldiers were gathered to discuss Paris' so-called abduction. Most of them, including Lucius, had expected him to attend anyway and started to smile in greeting; those smiles froze at the enraged expression on the prince's face.

"What is the meaning of this incredible breech of decorum?" demanded Priam.

Hector's face grew even redder at the sound of his father's scolding, arrogant tone. "I trusted you," he spat out. "You told me that you were going to protect him."

Why was Hector bringing this obviously private family grievance into the court, making it sound as if he had the authority to demand such a promise from the king? Priam narrowed his eyes. "We have already discussed Paris' –"

"His training in the arts of pleasure begins in about two years, Father?" hissed Hector. Priam's jaw audibly snapped shut and he glared accusingly at Odysseus. The Ithacan king's stomach twisted and he knew that all hopes of forging an alliance with the king of Troy were gone. "Paris will be eighteen then, the age that boys are when they are selected to join the palace harem. Since when has being a prostitute been a proper function for a prince to fill?"

Many of the nobles looked shock; small wonder, since Priam's' plans for Paris weren't public knowledge even in the court. This wasn't the way that he would have chosen for them to find out either. "Hector!" scolded Priam, frantically trying to silence him.

"You took him from me!" Hector carried on. "You've been taking him from me for over sixteen years now. Why, Father? Why did you take him when you all you wanted for him was to be the object of lust and twisted entertainment for the nobles and foreign leaders? Why do you want to make a whore out of my son?"

To be continued…


	7. And the truth shall set him free

_A/N: Hector's first person recollection is not set apart from the rest of the text, though it is italicized._

Priam's face contorted in fury and panic. "Be silent, Hector!" he ordered sharply. His voice sounded only slightly more desperate than he would have cared for at that particular place and time but that didn't matter if he could convince his uncharacteristically bold offspring to recant what he'd just announced before the court. "Keep your mouth shut; you are stumbling over your own words as it is."

Hector heard the implied demand and clearly understood what his father wanted him to do but he was in no mood to comply with his wishes anymore. For almost all of his life he'd played the part of the obedient son in order to appease that treacherous old man, later adapting his role as the stoic warrior in front of the nobles and people of Troy because he knew that was what the king desired of him. Because of this compulsion to please a father who would _never_ give him love and approval, Hector had never bothered to do anything to preserve his own happiness or protect his well being.

'_Or Paris','_ he thought suddenly, and the realization shamed him. Always deep down inside of Hector was that fourteen-year-old boy whose soul protested and heart screamed in anguish when Priam robbed him of his son. While he _could_ excuse his inaction because of his young age at the time, how could he justify ignoring that part of him that had been saying for over sixteen years that he should be the one raising his own child?

The answer to that gut-wrenching question was before him in the hall. It made him sick to finally face the fact that he was guilty of putting his obligations to everyone there – his father, the nobles, the soldiers – before Paris. Placing the blame on all of them wasn't exactly fair, for few of the nobles and none of the soldiers were aware of the extent of Priam's emotional abuse and plans for the boy's future. Hector, however, wasn't in the mood to be fair. Outrage and the feeling of utter betrayal had finally freed him of his desire for their approval and he no longer felt the need to contain his own pain in order to keep others from having to deal with unpleasant realities. Apollo forgive him, he didn't even want to try to soften the blow that this revelation would undoubtedly be to Andromache. In fact, as his eyes honed in on Priam he barely remembered that anyone else was in the room at all. That rebellious, insistent internal voice was now vindicated and he refused to hold his tongue.

"I won't be silent for you anymore," growled Hector. "I was silent when you ordered Ianthe to go into hiding in some filthy, windowless room in the cellar of the palace when you found out about her pregnancy. I was silent when you used her death and the fact that my mother finally found a way to escape your tyranny to claim my child as your own. For all of these years, Father, I was silent while you did everything in your power to keep me from forming even fraternal bond with Paris. What has been gained from all that silence? My son is so frightened of what you have decided is his destiny that he felt safer fleeing in the middle of the night with one of the notorious foreign warriors in the Aegean than remaining in the only life that he's ever known!"

"Your brother was –"

"_My son!"_ screamed Hector. Everyone jumped back, startled; it was both amazing and terrifying to witness the depths of his rage and despair. Indeed, the dam that had held back all of those emotions was now broken and years of agony were flowing unfettered out of him. "My son, my son, my son," he half-sobbed. "Paris was only called my brother because of your contrivances. He is my son – of my flesh, of my blood, and of my heart. You can't say that he's my brother anymore; I won't let you continue to claim him!"

The silence in the room was suffocating as the royal father and son tried to stare one another down. The others looked on, dazed as they struggled to come to terms with the influx of shocking news and what it all would mean for their futures – and the future of Troy. Surely Priam's offenses against his sons – _son and grandson_ – displeased the gods, but who in the room had the right, the authority, to question the king of Troy's actions? The rift between the king and his heir could most likely never be healed, but what if Hector chose to do more than just expose his father's wrongdoings? The city would not have worry about any Greek's military ambitions in that case, for the ensuing civil war would destroy almost everything worth invading for anyway.

Finally Linus, the soldier Lucius' father and esteemed nobleman, found his voice and cleared his throat. "Prince – Prince Hector," he stammered.

Hector's mind slowly registered that someone was addressing him and he forced his eyes to look away from Priam and at the old man. "How – what – how could any of this be so? It is difficult enough to conceive that the king would ever want to –" Linus choked a little as his throat constricted in self defense so he wouldn't have to finish that horrible sentence. "I do not understand how Prince Paris could be your child. I cannot recall any pregnant females around the palace at that time and you were so young…"

"Fourteen," Hector whispered, closing his eyes and the memories of so long ago resurfaced in his mind. No! This was not the time to let himself drown in self pity. He snapped them open and raised his voice so that all could hear. "I was fourteen-years-old when Paris, my eldest son, was born; and only thirteen when I got his mother pregnant."

"But who was she?" pressed Linus, his voice tight. "You were never permitted to leave the palace without your father's supervision or that of a chaperon. Was she the daughter of a visiting dignitary whose presence I cannot remember at this time?"

"Her name was Ianthe," answered Hector. He chuckled but there was no humor in it, or malice either – only bitter pain from over half a lifetime of grief. "And she was no noblewoman. I believe that Father counts one of my many sins to be becoming so close to a servant in the palace, but he need not blame anyone but himself for that. For all of my childhood I was isolated in this gilded cage. Most of the people I came into contact with were, well, all of you; and no one ever had the time to humor me by stopping and listening to me. The only ones around that were my age were servants and they knew that they weren't allowed to look me in the eye, let alone engage in a conversation with me. Ianthe was nice, though; she was the one person back then who ever spoke to Hector the teenaged boy rather than Prince Hector of Troy."

Wiping his tears with his fingers he continued on. "It was nothing more than puppy love, but for a lonely boy with no other friends and a servant girl who was being treated so kindly after being taught all of her life that the royals were her betters it felt like so much more. We used to make believe that we were grown-ups who were only visiting the city and would be leaving soon to return to their simpler, happier life in the country. I guess we managed to convince ourselves that we were _actually_ adults and we let that feeling and the curiosities that are normal for children of that age take our relationship" – he refused to let his father's snort of disapproval rattle him – "to a level that neither of us were ready for."

"She became pregnant," Lucius said rhetorically, at a loss for any other words.

"Yes," nodded Hector, avoiding turning around to look at Andromache. "My first thought was that we should get married, but by then Father knew all about it. A servant cannot become to the prince as close as the two of us did without other servants knowing and none of them wanted to be accused of keeping it from the king when she found herself pregnant with what was obviously my child. He wouldn't hear of his heir marrying someone so low of blood."

"Cease this nonsense," groaned Lord Isidore, sounding annoyed rather than panicked. "My stomach will not stand for any more of this innocent version of events. Puppy love? Relationship? I did not think that anyone who has lived in the palace for so long would have to be informed that servants who provide their betters with sexual pleasure are called whores, Prince Hector."

"And she was the worst kind of whore," agreed Priam in disgust. "One who forgot her place. How could you think for a second that such a person should eventually become your queen?"

Hector glared at them murderously but it was Odysseus who sneered: "And so you two figured like-mother-like-son?"

Taking a deep breath, the prince forced himself to hold it together. Later he would allow himself to yell, rant, scream, cry, and plot brutal revenge; now he had to get the rest of the truth out. "She was immediately locked away in that small room. Very few know about her condition and even less were told who the child's sire was. It was a horrible time; yet I was joyful because I loved the baby from the moment she told me he was coming. We talked about him when I was permitted to visit or managed to sneak down on my own. She and I chose the name Alexandros and I – I remembered our games of make believe and let myself dream of raising him in the countryside of Mount Ida. I thought that we could all just live happily ever after there, away from all of the complications that life in the palace posed."

"A preposterous wish of a foolish boy," muttered Priam scornfully.

"Father, I'm going to tell you something that might sound familiar: be silent!" snapped Hector. When his father clamped his teeth together indignantly, Hector's face drained of anger and recollection took over again. "She died in childbirth. For awhile afterward all I could do was hold her hand and cry over the loss of her, our relationship, and the dreams that we had. By the time I'd gathered my strength and wit about me my baby was gone, as was everyone else. I only cared about my son's disappearance though, and searched until I found him in my father's quarters – in my father's _arms_. I stared for a moment before requesting: _'Father? May I see him?'_

_He moved the blanket so that I could see his face but ignored my outstretched arms. 'Father please, I need to hold him,' I pleaded._

_Still he made no move to surrender him. 'Why would you need to do something like that? You cannot claim him as your own.'_

'_Yes – I can – I will!' I stuttered back. 'Why are you saying otherwise?'_

'_And how do you expect to raise him?' It sounded almost as if he were taunting me. 'You are still a child yourself, Hector; and one who is weak of body and mind at that. Thisbaby is evidence of that. How can you bring him up to be strong when you yourself are incapable of it?'_

_My heart wept. 'If I don't raise Alexandros when will become of him?' I cried._

'_There is no Alexandros,' he told me sharply. 'That name sounds too low to be bestowedupon my son.'_

_I thought that I'd misunderstood what he was saying because I couldn't accept that he would do something like that. 'What do you mean?' I asked, perplexed._

'_Your mother is refusing to return from her visit with her family,' he replied. 'Intolerable wench, trying to humiliate me with her defiance, as if she is worth a show of force to get her back! But at least now we have a plausible story to explain away both inconvenient events: we will say that she died and her mourning parents sent the child – the one that she did not know that she was bearing when she departed on her journey – home to be with his father.'_

_I couldn't believe my ears. 'No!' I protested._

'_Would you rather, then' he condescended, 'that he be branded as the bastard child of the prince's shameful dalliance with a servant?'_

'_We don't have to stay here,' I insisted. 'I'll take him to Mount Ida and no one will have to hear from us ever again.'_

_He just smiled nastily and looked down at that precious bundle in his arms. 'Your brother wants to take you to some gods-forsaken rock where you can both die of starvation,' he cooed._

'_Don't say that!' I shrieked. 'Don't call me his brother. I'm his father; he's my son!'_

_With a roll of his eyes he looked at me again. 'So you _do_ wish to see him scorned, tainted with your sin, before making his little body sport for vultures and crows. Are you really that selfish, Hector?'_

_His face grew almost kind. 'I can protect him from that,' he promised. 'I will not let you harm him in any way. He will be my son, Prince Paris.'"_

Hector shook himself out of the memory at the sound of hurried footsteps fading away behind him. "Andromache!" he cried out, but she'd already run out of the door with their son in tow. Was this the prince that he would always have to pay: in order to show loyalty and love to one family member he must forfeit others? The gods would notask forsuch a thing and Hector knew that he couldn't stand back and let it happen.

"Where are you going?" Priam demanded vehemently when he started to rush out after them. "I have not given you leave to depart. I will not stand for you disrupting the court meeting and then merrily skipping away!"

"I don't take orders from you anymore, Father," declared Hector. "What kind of a man steals his own grandson from his son? What kind of a king uses his power to torment and manipulate his family? Anyone in this room save that snake Isidore would make a better king of Troy than you. I vow to lend my name to the worthiest candidate who takes up that call – _after_ I do everything I can to put _my _family back together." Without another glance back Hector ran out, leaving behind the shell-shocked court – and Odysseus.

The Grecian king sighed in long-suffering resignation. "This seems to be happening fairly often as of late," he noted to no one in particular. "I keep getting left behind in the middle of someone else's mess."

"You – you can hardly compare the two," stammered Lucius incredulously, not quite sure how to react to Odysseus now. "With all that Prince Hector has been through – and Lord Achilles didn't – "

"Didn't what? Lose Prince Paris? _Love_ Prince Paris?" Odysseus glanced around the room and for possibly the first time felt the reckless courage of knowing that he could do nothing to mend their situation. The Trojans would be preoccupied with all of the problems that were sure to come about from that day's revelations, making it simple enough for him to lead his men out of the city safely. Why not stop tiptoeing around the rest of the truth? "There's where you are mistaken, good soldier of Troy. Achilles loves Prince Paris, just as the prince loves him."

"He might have told _you _that, but he threatened to rape –"

"Oh, you poor diluted young man," moaned Odysseus. "He never threatened to do anything of the sort to anyone, let alone the prince. His pride and ego alone prevents him from doing such a thing. Lord Isidore just caught them kissing in the garden and decided that he needed a clean way to murder Achilles, probably so there would be no complications when he himself raped the prince. Think about it: the lord provokes you with these false words so much that you enter into a duel with Achilles with the intent of killing him; figuring that if you fail he would surely kill you and he'd then have to face the penalty of death for murdering the son of a noble. The only reason you're still living is because Prince Paris was brave enough to sneak into the Greek quarters to ask Achilles not to kill you and Achilles loved him enough to listen."

He flashed his most winning smile at all of them. No wonder Achilles loved behaving this way – it was very liberating. "Well, I can see that all of you have your own problems to deal with," he concluded, "and my men and I have overstayed our welcome as it is. We'll be departing as soon as we can."

"Stop him!" yelled Priam, his face turning purple as Odysseus sauntered out. He was infuriated when no one made a move. "I am the king of Troy and my orders will be obeyed! Lucius, seize him!"

Lucius ever so slowly turned to look at him with hollow eyes. "I fought the greatest warrior in the world to defend the princes from dishonor and torment," he told him deliberately. "What makes you think I won't take on an old man for the same reasons?"

_OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO_

Andromache hadn't gone very far before her tears overwhelmed her and she sank to the floor, clutching Astyanax in her arms. That's how Hector found her: almost hunched doubled over while her body was racked with sobs. He immediately threw himself down on his knees in front of her. "I'm sorry, dear wife," he choked out, guilt stabbing him for being the cause of her pain. "What I did – you have every right to be angry."

"Do you really think so little of me?" she asked him, and indeed there was no anger or judgment in her tone. "I'm not so petty and insecure that I would fault you for what happened in your life before we met. Whatever penance you might owe for your lies since then have been paid many times over. I'm just hurt that you didn't trust me with this, didn't let me help you."

"Oh my love," he whispered. "I couldn't. That night – the night that Father took him from me – was the last time I ever called Paris my son out loud until today. If I'd have said it to you I wouldn't have been able to go on with the lies and I thought that I was doing what was best for him."

She reached out and touched his face lovingly. "This explains so much. You are a good man, Hector; a good husband to me and a good father to _both_ of your sons. There are few who would endure all of that grief for the sakes of those he loves."

Hector turned his face to kiss the palm that was pressed against his cheek. "I was blessed the day you came into my life, for you made me want to live again for the first time in years." His expression grew serious. "You understand what I have to do now."

Andromache nodded gravely as Odysseus strode by. "Never mind me," he said to them flippantly. "I'm just going to gather my men and we'll be out of your hair."

"King Odysseus, wait!" Hector's call stopped him in his tracks. He didn't _have_ to turn around and see what the prince had to say; he didn't have the treaty he had came there to obtain that would obligate him to get involved with Troy's political troubles. But he felt an odd kinship with Hector that made him do just what he didn't have to do.

"What is it, Prince Hector?"

"I know why you'd want to get your men out of the city and I'm not about to waste both of our time trying to talk you out of it," said Hector as he stood up and helped Andromache to rise. "All I ask is that you take me with you."

"To Ithaca?" asked Odysseus flatly, though he knew exactly where the Trojan wanted to be taken.

Hector shook his head. "I need to find my son."

How did he manage to get himself tangled up right in the middle of this? _'Perhaps the better question,'_ mused Odysseus in a self deprecating manner, _'is why can't I make myself walk away?'_

"He isn't lost," Odysseus said aloud in a tone that was blunt but not unkind. "Your son is out of the city of Troy, just like you always wanted; and what's more, he's in the arms of someone who loves him deeply. Don't start a war that you can't win right now with the Myrmidons attempting to make him give that up."

"That isn't my plan," insisted Hector. "Paris can control his own comings and goings; I have long ago surrendered any right I might have had to do that. I – I just want him to know that he has a father who doesn't think he's a prostitute."

"Achilles won't make it easy," Odysseus warned him as he felt his own defenses crumbling. "He thinks that you knew about King Priam's plans all along."

"But he told Paris that I could visit if I behaved myself and I will," countered Hector. "Julian heard him. Please Odysseus; from one father to another."

And there it was: the reason why Odysseus wasn't able to disengage himself from this mess. At his core he was a father, observing and judging his surroundings through those lenses. "All right, _Hector_," he relented, stressing the name to show the prince that he noticed his quiet permission not to use his formal title anymore. "I suppose that there is room for you and a _small_ number of your men aboard my ship, I can convince Achilles to let you see Prince Paris, especially in light of that promise." He paused for a moment. "No, not Prince Paris; I think that 'Paris Alexandros' has a better ring to it."

Hector felt a thrill run through him at the sound of the name that reminded him of the first time he drove a chariot all by himself. Telling Paris that he was his father could very well destroy Hector, but if his son accepted it, and didn't hate him…everything that the older prince had very wanted just might be within his reach. "Thank you," he said gratefully. "We'll attend to what we need to around here; then please take me to my son."

To be continued…


	8. At the receiving end

_A/N and Warning: Things get a little violent in this chapter. I don't know if this needs a warning, but better safe than sorry. Let's just say that Lord Isidore is a violent, sick man._

The beginning stages of chaos were breaking out in the court meeting hall of Troy. Nobles and soldiers were arguing amongst themselves; low-voiced, dignified, but fierce debates that promised to mutate into more violent altercations at any moment. This discord was spreading quickly to the rest of the palace: whispers of what had taken place between Hector and the king, what Odysseus had revealed about Paris and Achilles, and what the imposing Lord Isidore had to do with all of it. More than one servant were contemplating flight to the mountains before the situation escalated even more while others scattered about, uneasily listening for anything that could tell them what their futures would hold. For these people, Hector's revelation didn't outwardly change their lives: Paris, as far as the servants were concerned, was still a royal and of higher station than them, no matter if he was the son or the grandson of the king. At the same time…it had already affected so many of their betters. Whatever happened as a result of that court meeting, high-born and low-born alike knew that no one was going to endure the aftermath and emerge unchanged.

Lord Isidore was stewing in his venomous thoughts about that very fact as he strode purposefully through the corridors of the palace, heeding very little about the fears of those around him. It was difficult for him to care much about what the other nobles thought – after all, he was in the highest confidence of the king and they were not as trusted – and, as far as he was concerned, servants were there to be of assistance and not to burden their betters with such trivial things as their own worries. In fact, he didn't really believe that anyone low-born had such complex emotions. The only thing he cared about at the moment was that his reputation with the other nobles and high-born soldiers was all but ruined.

'_Curse Hector and Odysseus!'_ Isidore thought bitterly. It was Troy's eldest prince that had weakened any good opinions the others might have had about the lord by vomiting out his shameful secret and making the others feel sorry for him. Why should any of them react in such a way over Hector getting weepy over losing his first whore? Isidore had many die on him in the past and _he_ never minded because he understood that it was easy enough to get another one. Hector had laid the lord's reputation on the funeral pyre and, Odysseus – a Greek, beneath every Trojan in the room, and suspected of helping Achilles with his escape – had took it upon himself to set it ablaze. The court should have strung him and every Greek in the city upon hearing the news that Paris had been in the Greek quarters – and without supervision – but they had, unfortunately, chosen to focus on Isidore's part in provoking the duel between Lucius and Achilles.

Once Linus had heard that he'd set up his son to challenge the greatest warrior in the world to combat fully knowing and actually planning on seeing the Trojan soldier slaughtered the battle lines between him and Isidore were clearly drawn. The whole affair was ridiculous to the lecherous lord – soldiers were meant to die for the chosen causes of the nobility, weren't they? – but much to his disdain most of the other nobles had come down on the other side. The uncaring, malicious manner in which he was willing to use one their colleague's eldest son to achieve his own ends made them more rebellious than they would normally dare to be against Priam's right-had man.

The only consolation that Isidore had received was that the king still stood by his side and even that had to be fought for. The old fool had almost abandoned him wholly in the throes of what amounted to be a childish temper tantrum. _Why hadn't he told him what he knew about Paris and Achilles? How dare he do all of those things without asking for permission first?_ Oh, the king's whining had been insufferable! Isidore had quickly taken care of _that_, however, by reminding Priam rather pointedly that he would soon need all of the support that he could get and, in light of Hector's impassionate outburst and melodramatic wailings for his illegitimate son, such a thing would be harder than ever to come by.

Indeed, the rebellion against Isidore's standing could be interpreted as a dangerous first step toward the court openly defying the king of Troy. Many of the nobles and even more of the soldiers were voicing their displeasure and hostility for what Priam had done to Hector and Paris; such a situation had been unheard of before now. The king was growing furious but Isidore was less concerned: he doubted that nothing would come of it in the end. Revolting against any king, let alone one with so much power, came with steep odds against success and dire consequences when the rebellion failed. They might be speaking bold and treasonous words, but no matter how badly they felt for that sniveling brat and his whorish spawn no one would actually risk their own lives trying to avenge them.

That left Lord Isidore with a lot of anger; unfortunately he wasn't in the position to force those who were responsible for it to bear the brunt of his wrath. Where Hector was at the moment was a mystery to many. The lord figured that the wretch was _struggling to heal his family_ or _seeking out a way to repay his debt to Odysseus for telling him the truth_ or some other load of sentimental excrement. The Ithacan king was similarly missing; most likely rounding up his men – well, good riddance to them all! The similarly absent Achilles, of course, held a good deal of the blame; it was his actions that had caused all of these secrets to come to light and his lust and manipulations that had robbed him of a virginal Paris.

His thoughts drifted to the younger prince. What would Paris be doing right now if he was still in the city and away from Achilles' protection? He'd probably be holed up in his bedchamber, afraid of all of the internal fighting and possessing neither the skill nor the mental capacity to handle it. It would have been the perfect opportunity to sneak in there and be the first to claim his body – Isidore could have even killed whatever guard was posted outside and blamed someone else when it was over. That scenario was gone forever, though; no matter what noble intentions Achilles had used to trick Paris, he simply didn't have the self-restraint to not take him to bed either willingly or unwillingly once they'd left the Trojan shores. Paris would one day be recovered but his purity was gone forever and that made Isidore spitting mad.

So he couldn't exact his revenge on those four just yet. He had almost gone insane thinking of someone else to take all of his rage out on. That Priam was in the wrong was an unthinkable notion, for if he found fault with the king's designs he would also have to judge his own thoughts, feelings, and actions. He needed to find an easy target, not search inwardly for his own shortcomings and how to amend them. An easy target…someone he could attack and no one would care…. _'The prostitutes!'_ he thought with malevolent relief. Yes, now that he thought about it he could see that one of them had clearly plotted against him the night that Achilles and Paris vanished. He was the perfect scapegoat, so conveniently at hand, and Isidore was determined to make him pay.

"My lord?" a guard's uncertain voice caused him to halt when he was almost at the door to the prostitutes' chamber. "I apologize, but considering all that has happened –"

"If you truly understood all that has just happened you would dare impede me right now," hissed Isidore in response. "But because you are not worth any special effort on my part, consider yourself to be the recipient of my last shred of mercy: leave now and I will not have you punished. No, wait," he amended as the guard perceived his wicked mood and took a nervous step away. "You will give me your whip and then run away."

The guard reached for the weapon but paused to look Isidore in the face. _'He's judging me to determine whether or not he should obey my command,' _realized the lord with a surge of fury. Had the situation really sunk so low that a common guard felt as if he had the right to pass judgment on _him_? "Now," he ordered again, his words deliberately paced and dripping with spite. "Or else I will spare your life and hang the bodies of everyone you love from the main gate to rot. Perhaps that would help you remember your place."

Looking into his crazed eyes, the guard knew that the lord meant every word that he had just threatened and fearfully handed over the whip before making a hasty exit. Without considering how that exchange might cost him later, Isidore marched undisturbed the rest of the way until he was finally directly facing the prostitutes' door. He stared at it, pondering how ironic it was that among the very servants that he extracted so much pleasure from on a regular basis was someone who'd caused him so much suffering. Tightening his fist around the whip, he burst into the room.

Many of the prostitutes were stretched out on cots after an exhausting and full night's work. They raised their heads at the sound of the door crashing in only to immediately cower down at the sight of Lord Isidore, enraged to the point of insanity. He didn't care about any of their reactions, however; an evil glee spread through him as he caught sight of whom he was seeking. Without uttering a single work he stormed over to one of the shaking forms and pulled a boy with freckles all over his face off of his cot.

Freckles fell bonelessly to the ground, as experience had taught him that no good would come from defying the lord and fear was arresting his movements anyway. "How may I be of service to you, my lord?" he asked dutifully while he trembled so hard that his teeth chattered.

"You were of plenty service to me two nights ago," growled Isidore. Snarling down into that terrified face, he balled a fist and delivered a merciless blow to the boy's temple. "So much so that I wasted all of my attention on you and just let Achilles waltz away with Paris. Were you purposefully distracting me or are you simply too lustful and seductive for your own good?"

"No, my lord." Freckles struggled to keep his voice from wavering. "I was only trying to please you in the manner you instructed."

"Still a lying little dung insect, I see," replied Isidore curtly. "Lie down on your stomach – _now_ – and turn your face toward me."

The young man obeyed and Isidore smiled evilly into his eyes. "I want to see the look on your face," he said, allowing the whip to unravel out of his grip and practically buzzing with excitement when realization hit Freckles as to what his punishment was going to be, "when I give you a few scars that will stop you from hindering a man like me ever again."

The first strike against his back was enough to make even someone trained and experienced with enduring almost all manner of physical pain cry out. Isidore felt an intoxicating feeling of power wash over him – he found all of this more arousing that he thought he would. "It sounds like you are enjoying this immensely," he purred. "Do you want more? Do you need for me to do it harder? Is that not what sluts like you are supposed to say? Go on now; ask me for it. _Beg_ me to whip you again or else I will bring in some more of your betters and we will really make you scream."

"No! Stop it!" shrieked a voice from behind. Isidore shifted his eyes to see that the bothersome prostitute Hook had entered, supporting a limping and weakened redhead. Hook gently but swiftly deposited the redhead on the closest cot and shuffled hurriedly to stand between him and Freckles. "Leave him be, I beg of you!"

"Your insolence will no longer be tolerated," declared Isidore through gritted teeth. "Set aside and prepare yourself to submit to me after I am finished taking care of _this_. Do it before I decide that there should be two bloody whores on the floor instead of one!"

Hook stood his ground. "He had done you no wrong!" he insisted. "There is no reason for you to treat him like this!"

"And you deem that I need to have a reason to do _anything_ to any of your bodies?" Isidore demanded. He reached around and seized Hook by his hair, pulling him back so hard that the young man thought that his spine was going to snap. Through his pain, the prostitute registered the feeling of both a hand and the handle of the whip sliding up his body under his garment and caressing him with a deceptively soft touch. "This flesh is public property, and that holds true for every whore in this room. However, if you really must know why I will tell you: that freckle-faced piece of rubbish tricked me two nights ago. He was the one who provided Achilles with the distraction he needed to destroy everything that I desire."

A strange sound filled the chamber that made Isidore's blood freeze: laughter. Through his suffering and terror Hook was actually daring to laugh in his face! "Do you find the prospect of your own torment so amusing?" the old lord questioned threateningly.

"No; only your delusions," retorted Hook defiantly. He knew that he was going to die for this but he'd be damned if he was going to stand idly by as Freckles was subjected to a brutal beating when he had the power to stop it. At least he'd have the look on the vile lord's face and the memory of reveling in how he foiled this violent noble's schemes to comfort him in those last horrific moments.

"You sent your guards to follow Lord Achilles that night, correct?" he continued gloating. "They were supposed to stop him even before he entered the prince's bedchamber, I assume. Well, those two blustering idiots didn't even manage to follow him beyond the door of the banquet hall. Do you know why, you disgusting, pathetic excuse for a man? I stopped them. I _seduced _them, _enticed_ them, _begged_ them to hurt me until I screamed for mercy and then not give me any. And do you know why? Because I knew that Lord Achilles had feelings for Prince Paris; in fact, I advised him that morning to get the prince out of Troy and away from you as soon as possible. I was intent on seeing that happen. What's more, Lord Isidore, if I had to make the choice to do it all over again I would, just to see the look on your face that's there right now –"

Isidore was breathing in deep pants by the time he'd recovered from his shock enough to cut Hook off. "Treacherous bastard!" he exploded as the final bit of his self-control snapped. He flung Hook furiously to the floor. The poor young prostitute sprawled flat on his face a slip second before the whip came down on his back. It was a beating like no other - _nothing_ had ever hurt that badly before. The screams of agony that tore from his lips mingled with the lord's wordless bellows as he brought down the whip again.

'_Please Hades, take me to whatever the afterlife has in store for me,' _begged Hook as tears streamed down his face and racking sobs began to suffocate him. Even if he was sent to Tartarus, nothing there could be as worse as the abuse he was receiving now.

The god of the Underworld didn't answer his pleas, but apparently Apollo and Athena were more receptive. "What do you think you're doing!" roared Hector, grabbing Isidore's arms and pulling him back. The third whip strike cracked against the floor a breath away from Hook. "Are you so twisted and pathetic that you've been reduced to beating defenseless servants for fun?"

Isidore tore himself wildly from the restraining hold. "How dare you interrupt me?"

"We heard screaming," replied Odysseus hardly.

"You have no right to treat anyone like this," added Hector. "Especially not now that everyone knows what kind of snake you truly are."

The lord gestured at Hook. "He was in cahoots with Achilles," he snarled, inching away slowly. "Not surprising, considering he's exactly like your son – a traitor and a whore. There lies the reason why all of this happened." Turning suddenly he fled before anyone could stop him.

Hector made a move to pursue him but was called back by Odysseus. "No Hector," he stated definitively, kneeling beside Hook's prone body. "There are more pressing matters to attend to here. Chasing him around would be fruitless; his actions just now show that he's at the end of his power."

Hook let out a sob, capturing Hector's total attention. His eyes widened as he peered through the tearstained, red cheeks and smears of spit and snot and recognized the young prostitute that he'd noted was so Paris' age a little while ago. "I remember you," he recalled slowly. "You said that Lord Isidore didn't know all of the secrets." He walked toward Hook at the same pace as his words. "And now he claims that you were working with Achilles."

Misinterpreting the prince's statements as accusations, two figures flung themselves to Hook's side: Freckles and a young man with green eyes who'd been frozen with fear while Isidore was present. "Mercy, I beg of you!" pleaded Freckles.

"He didn't mean it," sobbed Green. "He only said it to make him leave Freckles alone. He was only taking care of us; he's the one who takes care of us…"

Their loyalty was both inspiring and heart-wrenching to witness. "Peace," Hector told them soothingly. "I was just thinking out loud, trying to finally make sense of what happened two nights ago. It seems your friend has the last missing piece." He gently parted Green and Freckles' guarding bodies and sat down next to Hook, smiling encouragingly at him. "Achilles was in love with Paris; did you know that?"

"Y-y-y-yes, sire," answered Hook in a shaking voice. He'd never been so happy to hear anything in his entire life – Prince Hector knowing about Lord Achilles' feelings might just spare him from further punishment. "That is, he said something when I thought that he was hassling Green and was trying to get him to leave him alone –"

"He was just seeing if I was all right," interjected Green solemnly. "I sort of collapsed right in front of him."

" – and from that I figured out how he felt about the prince."

"So you decided to offer your assistance?" nudged Odysseus.

Hook shook his head, wincing as the movement sent a sharp pain to his head. "Lord Achilles doesn't know anything about my involvement," he admitted. "He probably thinks it was just a lucky coincidence that those guards didn't show up until it was too late, but it wasn't. I distracted them. Please don't be angry, Prince Hector; Prince Paris is much better off with him – the things that Lord Isidore was planning to do to him…"

Hector closed his eyes briefly at the thought of what the lord could do that would make even someone who'd been hurt so at his hand to be rendered speechless. "I've heard enough," he declared. "A healer will be sent immediately to tend to your wounds. Now listen all of you: I'm going to see Paris; my father doesn't want me to and the nobility and members of the army are taking side. It's not going to be pleasant around here for quite a while, so I suggest that you maintain a low profile until I return."

"What?" blurted out Hook, imagining what was in store for all of them if what the prince was implying came to pass. How many beating like the one that he just received would he have to endure? "Is that all you have to say about it?"

"Excuse me?"

"We are the palace prostitutes, Prince Hector," Hook asserted. "In times of political turmoil no one will think twice about tearing us to shreds and smashing us into little pieces along with the rest of the possessions."

Glancing at his bloodied back, Hector gave him a small, sympathetic smile. "Lord Isidore –"

"Do you really think that Lord Isidore is one anomaly in the entire palace?" Hook shifted painfully to sit on his knees with his back to them. Drawing in a deep breath, he tore the tattered remains of his garment off. "I didn't get these from him alone."

Odysseus turned green at the sight of the myriad of scars in various stages of healing. He couldn't pick out a piece of skin that _wasn't _marred in some fashion. "By Athena," he croaked out.

"Who did this to you?" Hector demanded furiously as he thought about Paris and how Priam thought that his precious son should be subjected to the same fate.

"Many, many people; and to all of us," Hook told them desperately. "Though the latest ones – besides the ones you witness being inflicted – were courtesy of those guards I diverted. It's not easy to keep a guard from doing what he's told to do and I had to deal with two of them. _This_ is what happens to us during times of peace; what do you think we'll have to go through when people are _really_ bloody-minded?"

"You're right," said Hector, feeling the burden of the welfare of his people upon him again. As much as he wanted to leave there with only his family in mind, he knew he could just abandon everyone else left within the city of Troy to turmoil, fear, and possible death. Paris was safe, but most of those that Hector would be leaving behind wouldn't be. "Gather whatever you need and can carry, as send word to anyone else you can think of while you're at it. My wife and youngest son are leaving for the countryside as soon as possible and all of you will be accompanying them."

"You're leaving them behind?" asked Green timidly.

Odysseus carefully laid a hand on the prostitute's shoulder and suddenly recognized him from the night when Priam had told him his true intentions toward Paris. "The Myrmidons most likely won't be happy about Hector's arrival," he explained softly. "Having a wife and infant on the receiving end of one of their offenses would not be ideal."

"I'm sending some of the more trustworthy soldiers and guards with them," Hector told them. "They'll protect you all. A healer will be with you at every step of the way," he added, reaching for a blanket and covering the boy's exposed, abused body with it. "I don't what what's going to happen, but _this_" – he gestured to the now-covered back – "will never happen again as long as I still breathe. You're a brave young man Hook; not only for helping Achilles but also in how you care for these boys and for your honesty with me. You have my utmost admiration."

"Thank you, sire," replied Hook, and then frowned. "_Youngest_ son?"

To be continued…


	9. Morning rituals

_A/N: That last chapter was a little dark, so here's a little bit of slashy goodness to brighten things up! _

The sound of footsteps increased, coming from both the corridor outside the room and the deck above it and signaling to Achilles that a new day had begun. He was in no hurry to get out of bed and join his men in their tasks, however, for he was still enjoying those last few minutes of lying about after a perfect, peaceful night's rest. Though, of course, it wasn't necessary to cling to it so stubbornly since another one would come again that night – the journey from Troy had been remarkably restful. Achilles had discovered long ago that he slept much better when water and not solid land was beneath his dwellings. Perhaps it was the way that the waves rocked him that was so soothing to the warrior's spirit, or else simply the fact that his mother was a sea goddess and the water was just in his blood. Whatever the reason, Achilles had always considered the sea to be his true home and a man always gets his best night's sleep when he was at home.

On this particular trip there was another reason why he felt so at peace, and he was lying next to him, still asleep. Falling in love with Paris had been possibly the most unexpected and fortunate things that had ever happened to Achilles. The boy was the peace of the sea at his fingertips, the light at the end of a blood-splattered night whenever he needed it, and a million other flowery phrases that the warrior was too straightforward to bother thinking up. Words like that stuck in his throat; but thankfully Paris found such flatteries too grand and embarrassing to be true. Achilles never wanted him to think that he was lying to him, not after all that they went through to finally be together.

The flight from Troy in the middle of the night had been anything but tidy. The Greek's reputation as a brute proceeded him wherever he went and that combined with the dead bodies of those two guards who'd dared to speak to Paris in such a derogatory manner would tell a false tale of kidnapping. The only two people with enough information to contradict that assumption were Isidore and Odysseus and Achilles couldn't rely on either one of them to share any of it; the evil lord would keep it a secret, taking the course of action that would lead to the fastest recovery of the prince he lusted after and Odysseus…. The circumstances he'd essentially abandoned Ithaca's king and his men in were undoubtedly unpleasant and Odysseus wouldn't feel the need to do anything that would help Achilles and endanger his men – such as spread "slanderous lies" about his relationship with Paris. Oh well; what had already happened couldn't be undone and Achilles wasn't going to feel sorry about doing what he had to do to ensure his lover's safety. The consequences of their actions would have to be dealt with soon enough, but not now; now was just for them.

Achilles smiled down at Paris, who in turn gave his dreams a smile that was happy, sad, gratified, and wistful all at once. Well, that wouldn't do at all. If Morpheus refused to provide his lover with dreams that left him in perfect bliss he was more than happy to wake him up and take on the job himself. "Paris," he urged gently.

The only response he got was a slight stir from the runaway prince. "Paris," Achilles tried again, this time running a hand from the boy's cheek to his bare shoulders and down his naked arm. "Wake up, my love. It's time for you to forget about unpleasant dreams and start being with me."

Paris' eyelids fluttered a few times to shake off that last bit of sleep before he was able to focus on the older man. "Good morning, Achilles," he murmured tiredly. He buried his face in the pillow and rolled his head just enough to that he could peek up at the Greek.

"Good morning," Achilles returned fondly. "And now it's even better. I think we should continue on this streak and try to make this the best morning yet. I just saved you from an unsettling dream, didn't I? Is that not worth one kiss that would show me exactly how grateful you are?"

"This coming from a man who thinks that I dole out that type of reward for such impressive tasks as walking, talking, and breathing," countered Paris, shyly playful. The time spent together and away from the melodrama of his previous life had done wonders in bringing Paris out of his shell, but he was still getting used to being in a more relaxed atmosphere that didn't require him to check his emotions at every second. Thank the gods that Achilles was patient with him, backing off when the teasing got to be too much but pushing in the right ways when his fears made him hesitate.

"I can't help it if I'm so awe-inspiring that you can't keep your hands off of me," grinned Achilles with exaggerated smugness as his hands moved down to caress Paris' thighs under the covers. "If it's any consolation, I feel the same way about you. Now, if I can't keep my hands off of you and you can't keep your hands of me, what can we do to pass the time?"

The expression on Achilles' face was so earnest, thoughtful, and fake that Paris couldn't help but laugh. "I think it might be good for you if I restrained myself; that ego doesn't need any more stroking."

"You could always stroke something else…"

"Achilles!"

"What?" The warrior was all innocence in his voice as his hands moved in between Paris' legs. "I'm just suggesting a few ways that you can repay me for saving you from a bad dream."

"For your information, it wasn't a bad dream," Paris retorted good-naturedly. "It was…"

Achilles frowned as the Trojan bit his lower lip. "It was what?" he questioned, concern making him serious for a moment. "You can tell me, Paris."

"It wasn't really anything," replied Paris as he went over the dream again in his mind. "I was with Hector – I don't even know where – and he gave me a toy horse; you know, one of those animals carved out of wood. Just silly – no one's ever given me anything like that before and it's not going to happen now. Especially not from Hector."

Ah, Hector of Troy: the rodent under Achilles' bed as far as the Greek was concerned. Most of the time he could forget that the elder prince even existed but during others he became impossible to ignore. Achilles had made the decision not to share with Paris his suspicions that Hector was involved with Priam's schemes to turn the young man into a prostitute and vowed to continue to do so no matter how much it irked him to hear the sadness in this lover's voice whenever he spoke of him. Paris loved his brother and believed that he was loved by him in return; taking that away from him with no good reason was a type of cruelty that Achilles usually reserved only for his most hated enemies in battle. It would make for an interesting situation if Hector was the one to come after them, but that was something that Achilles would handle when and if he absolutely needed to.

"Dreams have a lot of meanings; some of which are difficult to figure out when we're wide awake," he offered in a noncommittal tone.

"I wasn't happy or sad about it," recalled Paris thoughtfully. "Or maybe I was both. The feelings were hard to define then and more so to describe now."

Mornings weren't the time for conversations with any amount of depth to them. "Enough!" declared Achilles importantly as a feisty grin spread across his face once more. "Why are we talking about such unsubstantial things like nighttime fantasies when we have the ability to act out those that come to us when we're awake? I haven't even kissed you good morning yet."

He leaned down dramatically to steal a kiss only to feel Paris' fingers pressed against his lips, impeding his goal. "This can't keep happening, Achilles," the runaway prince told him firmly. "What happened yesterday morning…and the day before…and _twice_ the day before that…and, well, pretty much every morning since we set sail except for that first one…is _not_ going to happen this morning."

"I don't remember hearing any complaints during any of those times," purred Achilles, opening his mouth to suck on Paris' fingers. "In fact," he added, pausing to run his tongue up and down the crevice between his pressed-together index and middle fingers. "You were saying…and groaning…and screaming some pretty positive things." His tongue pushed its way in between the fingers and wrapped around one and then the other. Paris ragged breathing was an inspiring and encouraging sound. "You weren't just trying to spare my feelings, were you?"

When had his mouth and throat become so dry? Paris swallowed hard and tried to catch his breath. "I'm serious," he moaned, unconsciously arching against Achilles' solid warrior's body. His eyes fixated on the Greek's mouth as it did wonderful things to his fingers and struggled to maintain his resolve. "Your men need you to lead them."

"They have more than enough guidance until I decide it's time for me to go top deck," argued Achilles as he continued with his seductive ministrations. "Eudores is in charge in theory and Patroclus has a least as much authority as him in actuality. There are too good men right there for the others to look to; why is it absolutely necessary to rush through one of my favorite parts of the day?"

"Because Eudores and Patroclus are both in charge," Paris asserted as he rolled his head back and gasped. "They bicker endlessly over every little detail. I'm afraid that one morning we'll find their mangled corpses after they've killed each other."

Achilles crinkled his brow, giving off the appearance that he was thinking hard about what he'd just heard. "I suppose," he relented with a sigh. "But can't I have one little kiss? Just our lips pressed together, as innocent and chaste as can be?"

"That should be all right," conceded Paris.

Achilles immediately rolled entirely on him, shifting his weight so as not to crush him. Once in position, he ran his fingers though Paris' dark curls and planted the softest, sweetest kiss imaginable onto his mouth. "Good morning, Paris," he breathed.

"Good morning, Achilles," whispered Paris warmly. He waited patiently for the Greek to move so that he could get up, but Achilles only moved his head to kiss his jaw in the same way. "Achilles, what do you think you're doing?"

"It's very simple, really," Achilles told him with perfect innocence. Paris might have believed his act had he not known him or seen the playfully mischievous glint in his eyes. "Usually my spectacular kisses are enough to say good morning to your entire being. That little peck, however, is barely adequate enough to bestow that same sentiment just to your lips. I made you a promise and I won't break it, so the only thing left for me to do is kiss every inch of your body."

His lips found their way to Paris' neck and the princelifted his chin to expose as much of it as he could. "You don't want this lovely neck to feel neglected, do you?" continued Achilles. "Or that special place where your neck and shoulders meet that gives you so much pleasure when I touch it?" He kissed the spot and indeed Paris' body responded. "Now that would be wrong."

Paris let out a cry of pleasure as Achilles kept going lower down his body. His collarbone, his nipples, his navel, along with all of the places in between, were lavished with feather-light kisses that were exciting but maddeningly not enough at the same time. "You're not playing fairly," he accused weakly.

"There's just so much flesh to kiss," replied Achilles as his mouth found its way to Paris' hard arousal. "And I finally got to one of my most favorite parts of it."

Those light, gentle touches continued to torment the boy. Curse the promise he'd extracted from Achilles! Now he couldn't get him to open his mouth no matter how hard he tried. Why had he been in such a rush to get above deck anyway? This kind of enjoyment was more than enough to convince him that Eudores and Patroclus could work things out for themselves, and if not – well, there were too many people on that ship anyway! "I need you," he begged. "Please don't tease me any longer."

Achilles removed his lips – _removed his lips!_ – crawling up the boy's form to plant a kiss on the tip of his nose. "Is that what I'm dong?" he asked with feigned remorsefulness. "That was never my intention."

"Like Hades it wasn't!" laughed Paris incredulously.

"I was only trying to respect your wishes," Achilles defended himself as he reached for a vial on the table next to the bed. "Only chaste, closed-mouthed kisses this morning. Fortunately kissing in any particular way isn't required to do this."

Opening himself up to him, Paris sighed contentedly as Achillesprepared him with oil-slicked fingers. He loved the Greek for being gentle but not treating him as if he were going to break at any second, for making him feel safe even when he was in such a vulnerable position, and most of all because he knew that Achilles would have stopped at any point that morning if Paris had so much as given the slightest indication that he didn't want his touch. "You're so wonderful," he whimpered. "I can't begin to describe how much I love you."

"If it's anything like the way I love you, I probably don't deserve it," responded Achilles as he retracted his fingers and repositioned both himself and Paris.

"That's not - "

"Shhh; I'm having a thought," Achilles interrupted him, pausing _right_ before he entered Paris. "Seeing that this is exactly what you wanted to avoid doing this morning…"

"Achilles," said Paris, his voice taut with desire and frustration, "if you don't finish what you started _right now_, all of our mornings will being with a knee to your groin."

How he loved Paris' fiery side! With no further ado, Achilles pushed forward and began thrusting deeper and deeper into that tight heat. "Oh Paris," he moaned. "Why did – did you not want – to – start – the day – li-like this?"

"I don't remember," the boy keened. "Every – single – day – oh! – should – start like this when, when – we – ah! – get home."

Somewhere in the back of his mind Achilles could feel the waves rocking their enjoined bodies. As he reached his peak, he understood more clearly than ever: "This is home."

_OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO_

"Ah, cousin; I'm glad to see you finally up and about," greeted Patroclus grandly as Achilles and Paris approached, interrupting his tense discussion with Eudores. "I managed to convince him not to steer us within listening distance of the sirens, but this moron still seems determined to sail right up to Charybdis and Scylla. Who cares that they're monsters who destroy everyone who journeys too close to them? The mighty Eudores can take them armed with only an oar and a dream. Good morning Paris," he added.

"Greetings Patroclus," Paris told his friend with a smile that was mostly amused and just a little concerned. Patroclus was sometimes prone to verbal tirades, especially when Eudores was involved, so this was certainly nothing out of the ordinary. Still, Paris wasn't quite past the feeling that conflict of any sort was scary. He nodded at the other man. "And to you as well, Eudores. I hope that things have been going well during your command."

"All except one," Eudores groused, jerking his thumb in Patroclus' direction. "How could _he_ be related to you, Achilles? He's all timid and faint of heart."

Patroclus rolled his eyes. "Those actually mean the same thing," he stated dismissively. "I know this for the same reason I know the better routes for us to sail on: I have more intelligence than a vegetable."

"What's that supposed to mean?" demanded Eudores.

"I'm sorry; was that too many syllables? It means that I'm smarter than a turnip like you."

Achilles slipped one arm around Paris. "I can almost understand your rush to get up here," he told him jovially. "Who'd want to miss one minute of this continuing comedy?"

"The both of you, be quiet," he then ordered briskly at the bickering duo. "Since I'm the leader of the Myrmidons I will be the one to decide which route is the proper one for us to sail. Eudores, come with me; Patroclus, do you remember where Paris left off yesterday?"

"With proper stance and positioning of the hands," answered Patroclus, casting a dark eye at Eudores.

"Congratulations: you _are_ smarter than a turnip," Achilles said wryly. "Then I can trust you to pick up his lessons from there until I deal with this and get back?"

"Happily." Achilles started to walk away, hoping to be out of earshot before his cousin could add anything else, but Patroclus had a quick tongue and a dangerous amount of self-confidence. The younger Greek called after him: "I marked the best route on the map. Even someone with a skull as empty as Eudores' could see that if he wasn't intent on trying to remain as ignorant as possible!"

The empty-headed, ignorant man in question lingered for a few moments, leaning in closer to Patroclus' ear. "I can show you how right _I _am," he said in a low, husky voice.

The corners of Patroclus' mouth curled into a sly smile. "That only works where we're alone."

Paris gaped as Eudores countered with, "Tonight, then," and sprinted off after Achilles. "You two – did he say – did you mean –"

"He was bound to be good at something," replied Patroclus cheekily, wriggling his eyebrows at his more naïve friend. "And by the gods, when Eudores is good at something, he truly _excels_."

"But do you love him?" Paris couldn't imagine doing the things that he did with Achilles without loving him as much as he did.

"I don't know," hedged Patroclus, slightly grumpy at being asked to explore all of those emotions. "Sometimes I think I do, or at least I think I could; other times he annoys me so much I want to stab him with whatever's most convenient."

"I'm sorry, but I'm having a hard time processing this," Paris said with a nervous chuckle. "I mean, you boss him around and that annoys him so much…"

Figuring that the inexperienced prince would faint if he shared the details of his…relationship with Eudores, Patroclus merely smiled secretively. "Well, he's the bossy one when we're alone," he chose his words carefully. "I happen to like it that way. Come on," he added, turning away from Paris' inquisitive stare, "let's get started."

_OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO_

The route that Patroclus had marked was indeed the preferable one; it irritated Achilles to no end that he didn't have the time to stall, making it seem as if he was having trouble agreeing with him. His younger cousin was sometimes too brash about his admittedly high intelligence and Achilles always took it upon himself to try to humble him whenever he needed it. Unfortunately, there wasn't any time now; staring out over the water behind them the warrior could feel someone pursuing them. If they were forced to make a stand on the water, his men would be more vulnerable and Paris would be in grave danger.

"Eudores," Achilles ordered sharply. "Set course at once. We'll be taking the one that Patroclus was thoughtful enough to select for us."

"I figured we would be," said Eudores with a shrug of his shoulders. "I knew it was the best one, but –"

Achilles cut him off with a pointed glower. "It would be wise if you didn't let your foreplay with my cousin interfere with your ability to command," he said. Eudores' eyes darted to him and then away nervously. "Yes, I know; it's a little hard for me to miss given how well I know you both. Patroclus is a big boy who can make his own decisions and I trust you appreciate that there are consequences should you mistreat him, and even more of them once he's done with you."

"I do."

"Good. Now steer the ship in the direction that I ordered." Achilles stared out at the water again, squinting as if he could see the menacing threat if he tired hard enough. "We need to get back to our land as quickly as possible in order to prepare for a fight. We're being followed."

To be continued…


	10. Good enough

_A/N: Hector's dream isn't really set apart from the rest of the story, but it is italized._

The weeks spent traveling on that Ithacan ship was one of the most torturous times of Hector's life. He'd managed to somehow fill the days with busywork – meeting with his men, having conversations that he only half-remembered later with Odysseus, staring out at the water and willing the current and wind to take him to his destination faster – but the nights were long, lonely, and restless. How could one tiny room feel so vast and empty? Perhaps it was the extra cot he'd set up in the corner, sitting there all neatly made as if it were waiting for someone that never came. Hector had prepared it on one of the first nights of the voyage when sleep eluded him, in the foolish hopes that Paris would be joining him when they set sail from the Myrmidons' homeland. It was one of the few thoughts that seemed to be keeping him sane these days and yet the overwhelming possibility that it wasn't going to happen added more weight to the already oppressive loneliness that clung to the air.

The only way that Hector could keep from obsessing about his eldest son's potential rejection of him was to focus on the guilt he was feeling. Years of playing the role of the perfect prince made it difficult to shed off those feelings of obligation that he had toward his father's court. For all intents and purposes, he _had_ just marched in there while they were trying to get a handle on an already tense and unprecedented disaster, spilled out all of his problems that none of them could do anything to fix, and walked away. Of course, they must have known where to find him before he left – he'd spent the two nights that were needed for preparations on the beach with the Ithacans – but that didn't mean that they felt comfortable approaching him then. Now the nobles, most of whom were actually rather decent people, were left to deal with the mess he left behind with no one to stand between them and Priam. While Hector would never again apologize for the reason why he had to do it, tearing apart the king's façade and exposing the real him before leaving without attending to any of the consequences would most likely have serious repercussions when he returned to Troy's shores.

And return he would, if only to collect Andromache, Astyanax, and the rest of the refugees from Mount Ida to take into exile with him. In the darkness of the night, when Hector's mind would give him a temporary respite from thinking about Paris before he went insane, his thoughts immediately went to that gathering of people that he'd led from the city and watched retreat into the mountains. Fleeing was really the only thing that they could do, considering the political instability of the city but Hector still felt his heart wrench at the thought that he had done anything that made their lives even more difficult. The feeling was made worse by the fact that he couldn't go with them to make sure that they were indeed safe for fear that someone would use them against him – those that were loyal to his father would follow Hector before they followed anyone else and none would risk losing the prince's trail for anything. Keeping the distance was a major source of anguish for the Trojan, but he bore it as he had always borne that in his life: with a strong resolve that what he was doing was right and a determination not to burden others with his pain.

He was still haunted by them: his wife; youngest son; most of the servants, including Hook, still in pain because of his injuries but gravely keeping the prostitutes together, and Paris' servant boy Julian, who'd been rescued from his imprisonment before Priam's supporters could deduce his role in Hector's revelation; and other frightened citizens and nobles who loved Hector and could not serve a king they couldn't trust. Luckily for all of them, no one had attempted to hinder their departure and the guards at the main gates had even stepped out of the way without receiving one word of command. At least Hector could find some comfort in the fact that his father would have to deal with the city's political stability before seeking out those who'd left; and the prince had left them in the care of many loyal soldiers and guards under Lucius' command. The noble soldier had requested to be a part of the small contingent of men accompanying Hector but the prince needed to leave someone he trusted to protect those that he loved. Besides, given Lucius' antagonistic history with Achilles, bringing him along might be interpreted as a provocation to battle.

So another Trojan prince had departed in (relative) secret, leaving behind those who needed him; people he loved and cared for deeply, and he felt the pain of that separation most sharply in the lonely hours of the night when he was alone with his thoughts and demons. Even when Hector managed to get some sleep it was not restful at all, for his nightmares tormented him with all of his fears of what could happen when he found Paris. For years he'd had happy dreams about the day that he'd finally tell him the truth – Paris would always smile with more joy than Hector had ever seen before flinging himself into his newfound father's arms. Now that the day was almost at hand the dreams had become sinister and increasingly terrifying.

The worst nightmare of all had come to Hector in the dead of that night:

_He stood there facing Paris. They were standing – somewhere; Hector had no idea what Achilles' home looked like and didn't have the energy to start guessing, so that part of his dreams was always nondescript. It wasn't important, anyway; the only thing he cared about was the boy that was finally within arm's reach. The prince was desperate to pull his son into an embrace but the truth was still acting as a barrier between them. It had to be told before they could move on. "I'm your father, Paris," Hector told him as gently as he could._

_Paris didn't respond – not with a word, facial expression, twitch of the body, or even a look in his eyes. It was as if he hadn't heard him, but given that they were standing so close that was impossible. 'It must be shock,' Hector told himself, not wanting to think about whatever else his unresponsiveness could mean._

"_I'm so sorry I lied to you," Hector pressed on. "You have every right to be angry, confused, to hate me, and anything else you might feel. It was wrong of me to do and there is nothing in the world that I regret more. Oh Paris, I thought I was protecting you; that was the only reason why I was able to survive giving you up. I love you so much, my son."_

_Again no answer; Paris stood as still as a statue. "Paris, please," Hector was at the point of begging. It was then that he realized that indifference was the one reaction from Paris that would drive him to despair, for it meant that his son didn't care to work up the energy to feel _anything_ for him. It would be the ultimate form of rejection. "Strike me; yell at me; tell me you hate me; ask Achilles to torture or kill me! Just say _something_."_

_Still no reaction. At the end of his rope, Hector reached out and placed a hand on Paris' arm only to feel his son's skin turn to sand at his touch. "No!" cried Hector, but there was nothing that he could do. Paris simply dissolved until there was nothing left of him but a pile of sand where he'd been standing. _

_Sobbing uncontrollably, the elder prince fell to his knees and grasped at it, desperate for some kind of miracle. "Take my life," he pleaded to no one, for he knew that the gods would no longer listen to him. Paris was gone forever and it was all Hector's fault. Still, he had to try. "Please, anyone! I will gladly endure the worst that Tartarus has in store for the most evil man if only you save my son."_

_Harsh laughter behind him froze Hector's blood; he knew who it belonged to even though that person wasn't supposed to be there. "The gods do not need your consent to impose such a punishment, especially after this. Just look at what you have done," taunted Priam with gleeful malice. "Why are you so surprised, Hector? The gods know that you are not good enough to be his father. Did you really believe that one or two grand gestures on Paris' behalf would negate a lifetime of lying and abandoning him?"_

"_I wanted to raise him," replied Hector through his sorrow. "But you said –"_

"_Are you still telling yourself that you believed what I told you that night?" asked Priam mirthfully. "You knew what kind of man that I was, that I would be able to look that that whore's child and see that he would grow up to be one of the most beautiful people in the Aegean. You knew that I would have to add him to my collection of exquisite things to show off and lend out at will."_

"_No I didn't! I was so young."_

"_And that will always be your excuse," Priam chided as he walked to Hector's side. "Children do not care what the reasons for their parents' weaknesses are. All of the 'I was so young's in the world will never change the fact that Paris grew up feeling isolated and unloved because you were not strong enough to be his father when he needed you to be." _

_The cruel king dug his toe into the sand that had once been Paris. Hector, in his grief and fury, shoved him away but Priam only smiled in amusement at the response. "How do you live with yourself, Hector," he purred, "knowing that you have done more to defend this pile of sand than you ever did to protect your own flesh and blood?"_

Hector awoke with a start. The dream hung on to the edge of his consciousness, making the room even darker and more oppressive. He sat up in bed panting and sweating while a few tears slipped down his cheeks. Blackness was all around him; and the loneliness was suffocating him until he thought that he would pass out. The Trojan might have welcomed it had he thought for a moment that it would take him away from his troubles, but he knew that all unconsciousness held for him was more nightmares that would be even worse. He couldn't take it anymore; he had to get out.

_OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO_

"Well, look who's up and about at the wee hours of the night." Odysseus raised his eyebrows quizzically at the Trojan prince as Hector emerged from below deck. Spreading his arms out behind him, the Greek braced himself against the rail of the ship. "What brings you up here?"

"I could ask you the same question," countered Hector quietly. The horrible dream was still too fresh in his mind for him to feel comfortable talking about it. "I might point out that the charge of the night duty is generally left to the second-in-command."

"You _could_ do that, but it would be rather presumptuous of you to basically question my decisions when you're only on board at all because of my good graces," said Odysseus; maintaining his affronted attitude and furrowed brow just long enough to get those words out before letting a smile break out across his face. "I just like being on duty at this hour. It's peaceful, and a welcome break from having to constantly command my men. I do some of my best thinking in the dead of night."

"The nights aren't meant for deep thought," Hector replied in a far away voice. "I find myself foraging around in the darkest corners of my mind whenever I attempt to think about more than what I have to do the next day. There is no rest during the nights when I allow my mind to take control."

Odysseus studied his face in the moonlight. What he found didn't surprise him: dark circles were prominent under his eyes and new lines had aged his face since they'd parted from the refugees and set out. "You've been thinking about much more than what the next day brings since this journey began, haven't you?" he inquired kindly. "Would you like to talk about it?"

"No," Hector shook his head. "I came up here to escape all of that."

"I've found that giving voice to your thoughts does wonders for getting them out of your head; I think it reduces their power over you." The corners of Odysseus' mouth twitched. "Over others as well, now that I really think about it. I've had many ideas that sounded great in my head but never held any sway over the very people that I was trying to persuade."

"Achilles, for instance?" asked Hector wryly, pondering for a moment the man who had enough gall to defy his father in such a bold way. He gave a great sigh when he noticed that Odysseus was still studying him intently. "I have dreams."

"We all do," replied Ithaca's king frankly. Indulging Hector by letting him get away with such vague answers wouldn't do any of them much good. After all, it was better in the long run to move a dislocated shoulder back in place and cause that pain than leave it out of joint forever. And Hector would need all of his 'joints' functional if he was going to get past Achilles. "Are these dreams about anything in particular?"

Hector looked out over the dark waters, across the horizon line where Achilles' homeland would come into view. "We're almost there," he said.

"So we are." Odysseus noted the change in the topic but refused to give in. "Is that what you've been dreaming about?"

"Not much," lied Hector. No, he didn't want to lie anymore to anyone when it wasn't absolutely necessary; no matter how uncomfortable it would be for him. "Every night," he amended sheepishly. "In every dream I tell Paris that I'm his father and it all goes downhill from there. He ends up hating me, or having his spirit crushed, or running into the sea to escape me and never coming up again – I always lose him. And tonight…tonight my words and touch turned him to sand. My father was there as well, telling me how I'm not good enough to be his father and that Paris will never care about my reasons for lying because the past cannot be undone."

"I'm not sure I should be the one to tell you this," hesitated Odysseus, but only for a few moments. "But someone has to: the latter part of that is true."

Hector tried to swallow the lump that was forming in his throat. "I just want the chance to make up –"

"Hector, you need to understand this before you talk to Paris or else I can guarantee that you will lose him forever," interrupted Odysseus. "The past is over with and you cannot make up for it; no matter how much you want to you can't go back and fix everything. Paris Alexandros was raised by King Priam feeling alone, scared, largely unloved, and mostly forgotten until he grew older and received all the wrong kinds of attention. It's heartbreaking, but it will always be a part of him whether or not he accepts you as his father. Wounds that deep might heal but they leave behind scars. I'm sorry."

"I _am_ a terrible father," Hector lamented, never feeling so low before.

"No; you're just not a _perfect_ father," Odysseus told him in a falsely cheerful tone that betrayed his own personal struggle with the topic at hand. "And you're not alone in that. Fortunately for all of us, we don't have to forfeit our children's love whenever we make a mistake."

The prince snorted incredulously. "I appreciate you saying that but I doubt that you've ever made such a horrible error when it comes to raising your son."

"Don't be too certain about that," retorted Odysseus, more tired than malicious. "It's been months since I've laid eyes on Telemachus. Do you know how much he must have grown since then?"

"It's not the same. You have duties that cannot be ignored."

"Yes, the nature of my position forces me away from him and his mother for long stretches of time and I can do nothing about that," conceded Odysseus, "but what's keeping me away now? I have no obligations to anyone – to you, Achilles, and certainly not your father – so am I heading home to them? I'm afraid not; instead I'm escorting a prince who's just rebelled against the king of a country that's in political shambles to a land where we could very well be attacked upon arrival so that he can tell the son who willingly left it all behind that they're not brothers, as he'd been led to believe all of his life. When it's put that way, it's hard to argue why this is more important than being with Telemachus."

"You're right," concurred Hector woefully. "There's no reason why you should have to be here with me on this journey. It was pure selfishness to impose on you in the first place. Drop me off at the nearest port; I'll make my way from there. You shouldn't trouble with me for any longer than you need to."

A martyr complex was certainly unbecoming on a Trojan prince; it was time to snap him out of it once and for all. "First, allow me to point out that the nearest port is full of Myrmidons – we're almost there," said Odysseus, rolling his eyes. "Just dropping you off, then, would be tantamount to murder. Secondly, you're missing the point of my melancholy blatherings. My son is probably wondering where I am and why I can't be with him right now."

"It sounds like I understand well enough," commented Hector.

"When you only listen to the first part of what I'm saying," Odysseus responded with a hint of annoyance in his voice. "Will you be so kind as to let me finish? One day he might even ask and I'll have to explain all of this to him. I can't say that my assistance in this part of your journey will amount to anything; time will tell and this just might prove disastrous or at least worthless. However, I don't have the benefit of hindsight and so I can't know what it will mean right now. All I can to, then, is what I think is best and hope that it turns out well. Sometimes it doesn't; our best isn't always good enough, but it's all we have to offer our children. What I'm saying is that you shouldn't dwell on the past decisions and how you would change them now – focus on what you do have the power to change."

"So I should stop obsessing about my son's hideous past and start worrying about not screwing it up from now on?"

"I give up!" Odysseus threw his hands in the air dramatically and marched over to a nearby pile. "Since I clearly can't console you, I suggest that you get a hobby. Here" – he found what he was looking for and walked back to thrust a piece of wood and a knife into Hector's grasp. "Carve something. _Anything_. Hopefully that will keep you acting like a ghost for the rest of the journey. Make something for Paris Alexandros."

"What, you mean a toy?" scoffed Hector, peering dubiously at the contents of his hands. "You just told me not to focus on his past. He's too old for such childish things; it's too late."

"Better late than never," Odysseus urged assertively. "At the very least it will give you something to do with your hands until you can drift off; it might even wear out your mind enough that you'll be too tired to even dream. I have another suggestion: spend the next couple of days catching up on your sleep. You'll need all the rest that you can get."

_OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO_

For the next two days Hector occupied his time by carving until he was too tired to carry on, sleeping, and then repeating the cycle. The dreams still came but exhausting his mind by concentrating on every little detail of his carving until his mind was too strained to do anything helped to dampen their affect on him. It was nice to be able to do something that was active and positive for his son.

He was just completing the individual hairlines in the animal's mane when the sound of footsteps all around drew his attention away. Almost immediately, an excited knock thudded on his door. "My prince!" called a voice that Hector recognized as belonging to one of his soldiers.

Tucking the toy and knife under his pillow, Hector made his way over and opened the door. "Yes?"

"We were able to see it as soon as the sun came up," the soldier informed him breathlessly. "Myrmidon territory is dead-ahead. With the wind and the current King Odysseus estimates that we'll be able to go ashore by mid-morning."

To be continued…

_A/N: I just wanted to take the opportunity to thank everyone who's reviewed so far. It means a lot to me!_


	11. Trying to reclaim what was lost

Every soldier from Troy that had dared to accompany Hector in defiance of their king stood huddled together on the deck of the ship that they'd just helped the Ithacans land on the beach of the Myrmidons' territory. No one could question their loyalty to Hector and their dedication in seeing him carry out his mission, but there was a great distinction between assisting their acknowledged leader and sending him off like a lamb to the slaughter. "Sire, I must advise against this," one of them insisted to Hector once again.

"I've come this far," replied Hector, staring out over the edge of the ship with a strange look in his eye – as if he were looking _through _what was in plain view that was making his men hesitate. "If I chose to give up now I would have to admit to myself that I did so because it was easier to do that than to be strong and claim my son."

"No one here can claim to fully understand all that you've gone through, my prince," the soldier tried to reason as he glanced at the same beach and blanched at the sight that greeted him: Myrmidons as far as the eye could see, well-armed and standing in battle formation. The idea of letting Hector go out there without even one weapon was painful enough, and on top of that…. "However, it would be madness for you to go out there alone and unarmed!"

"I must go without my sword, but I will not be alone; King Odysseus has been kind enough to agree to come with me."

"Besides," Odysseus spoke up, calmly ignoring the unhappy looks on the faces of his own men, "this decision shouldn't come as such a shock to everyone. Have we not made it clear that you didn't journey all this way to provoke a fight that we can't win? We're here so that your prince can tell Paris Alexandros everything, not force him to come back to Troy."

The glint of the sunlight reflecting off of all the swords on the beach made the soldier inwardly flinch, as did hearing the Greek king refer to the young man whom the Trojans still regarded as a prince without his proper title. "But none of us expected to be facing this –"

"You didn't, perhaps," laughed Odysseus. The good-natured sound would have seemed out of place in such a dangerous situation had not the king's hard-learned experience, both first-hand and by witnessing the fates of others, been mingled with it. "It's a common mistake to believe that the Myrmidons are just a bunch of wild brutes and thus underestimate their ability to strategize. Count yourselves lucky then, soldiers of Troy: it's one that most people only live long enough to make once. Achilles may be bold to the point of reckless, but he isn't stupid."

"He knew that a force would follow when he spirited away the youngest prince of Troy," concurred Hector grimly. "It only stands to reason that he wouldn't just leave the beach of his homeland undefended. That being said, it appears that the next move is mine – I can either stay on board or go down there. Since I doubt that Achilles will be willing to bring Paris to see me I _have_ to go to him and I'd like not to give them any more reason to attack. All I ask from all of you is that you obey whatever orders I give you no matter how dire matters look for me. And the first order that I give is for you to stay here until hearing from me again."

There was nothing left to say; nor was there anything that the Trojan soldiers could do but look on with increasing unease as Hector and Odysseus went ashore without them. As they walked down the ramp, both king and prince made a bit of a show in laying aside all of their weapons – including, much to the disconcertion of both of their men, the smaller blades that almost every warrior hid somewhere on their persons. Surely now they would be slaughtered!

There wasn't a soul on that ship that didn't hold his breath as their leaders stepped off of the ramp and onto the sand. The Myrmidons, like scorpions that had finally come to the long-anticipated moment of strike, moved deftly to fully surround them. Neither Trojan nor Ithacan could hope to get to their commanders without having to battle their way through a mass of warriors. Why, they could only barely make out which figures were Hector and Odysseus in the throng. Many prayers were sent to Apollo and Athena from the ship at that moment.

In the middle of all of that Hector stood absolutely still with his arms hanging loosely at his sides. He could feel the air throbbing all around him and for the first time since leaving the shores of Troy he wondered if he was going to make it through that ordeal physically intact. Through rationally he always knew that it was a likely possibility, this wasn't how he'd wanted things to go; to die before he even got the chance to see Paris again. His eyes darted to one openly hostile face to another and knew that he and Odysseus would have to watch their every word and action if they were going to live to see their families again.

Odysseus, in the meantime, was also searching through the crowd of faces; but he was looking for a specific one rather than simply taking in all of their hatred. When he couldn't find Achilles, he settled on the next best chance for negotiating a temporary truce and getting Hector down the final part of his journey. "Greetings, Eudores," he said to Achilles' second-in-command loud enough so that everyone on the beach could hear him. "We've come a long way in order to speak with Achilles."

"I'll bet," snorted Eudores, not at all willing to give them even a hint that the circumstances could be anything but unwelcoming. "Well, you'll get no sympathy here. Judging by your – _company_ – I can tell you that we've just made the same trip; the only difference is that you didn't have some ship full of would-be kidnappers, rapists, and betrayers on your tail."

"There appears to be some confusion about our purpose in coming here," said Odysseus evenly as he impressively maintained his self-control and dignity. "That is why we ask to speak to your lord. Where is Achilles?"

"He's otherwise occupied," Eudores reported in a clipped tone. "But he left me with orders to have the men hold the beach against those who" – he sneered in disgust at Hector – "trespass."

Perhaps it was a foolishly reckless thing to do but Hector could no longer hold his tongue. "I have not journeyed all this way to fight, nor insult anyone, nor force anyone to do anything against their will," he said, a slight tremor in his voice. That couldn't be helped; he was so close to his son that if the anticipation and tension didn't end soon he was going to claw his own skin off! "I'm just here to talk. I would see Prince Paris."

"I'm sure you would," retorted Eudores sarcastically. "I have no doubt that you'd see him, talk to him, grab him, hurt him, and drag him back to that cesspool that you Trojans claim in a civilized city, but I don't think that Paris would like that and I'm more concerned with his wants than yours."

"I admire how well you protect him," Hector blurted out desperately; indeed pleased that Paris had finally found people who would stand up for him while at the same time almost losing his mind because of the frustration of it all. "And I swear that I will do him no harm, if only you let me –"

"Are you a simpleton? That's not my decision," said Eudores, taking a step forward to get almost nose-to-nose with the Trojan prince. "Achilles hasn't given you leave to traipse all over this land and I'm not about to stick my neck out for the likes of you. There's only one way you're going to be leaving this beach: on the ship that brought you here in the first place or else down into the Underworld to let Hades judge you. Make your choice soon before I decide to make it for you."

Easing his way between Myrmidon and Trojan as much as he dared, Odysseus stared unblinkingly into Eudores' face. "Let me talk to Achilles," he requested in a forceful but persuasive tone. "The two of us have business to discuss, most of which have nothing to do with what Hector is here to do. Or have you all forgotten that little matter of abandoning me and my men to King Priam's wrath after _you_ took off with the prince?"

"I'll willingly stay on the beach under your power until Lord Achilles gives any orders otherwise," added Hector before Eudores could retort. "Please, I beg you to let Odysseus speak with your lord."

Eudores narrowed his eyes. "How do I know that you're not planning something?"

"I swear on all of the love that my son has for me that I am not," Hector insisted, leaving it to them to make their own assumptions on just what he was talking about. "Do you require more proof?" He turned to the ship and shouted out. "Soldiers of Troy! I order you now to _not_ set one foot off of the ship – either into water, onto the rank, or in sand – unless orders to do otherwise come from the mouth of Lord Achilles himself! I will brand any that do traitors!"

"Impressive gesture," commented a younger-sounding voice.

Turning back, Hector saw that a young man with an air of shrewdness and confidence had walked up to stand beside Eudores. "It wasn't meant to impress," responded Hector as he looked uncertainly at the newcomer. He had no doubt that the Myrmidons had ways that he would probably consider to be unusual, but he'd never heard of any army that would stand for a young soldier to be so audacious that he'd act as if he had as much authority as the person left in command.

"Ah, Patroclus," smiled Odysseus, his overfriendliness emphasizing rather than masking the lingering annoyance he had for the Myrmidon. "This is Achilles' cousin," he added to Hector before cocking an eyebrow at the young man. "So you managed to convince Achilles not to do anything rash _at the moment_, huh? By Athena, I found out the next morning in a most unpleasant way just how literal you were being."

"I thought that you of all people would know not to trust that people always mean what you want them to mean," Patroclus told him, and Hector could plainly see a brashness in him that he could easily equate with that of the reputation of his cousin. "Take your friend here; I assumed that he's trying to astound us with his humbleness and yet he says that it's not true."

"It isn't," Hector broke in. "It's supposed to give all of you some assurance of my total cooperation. Do you wish for me to get down on my knees when I beg? Because I will do it as long as I have the hope of seeing Paris at the end."

Eudores still looked at him cynically but something stirring within Patroclus caused him to draw his lip into a tight line. "I can't take you to see him," he said with a cautious edge in his voice. "But if Odysseus is so intent on speaking on your behalf I'll escort him to Achilles." He eyed the king with some acceptance. "You may be an old fox, Odysseus, but you're still his friend."

"Hold one moment." Eudores wasn't happy. While he was used to the younger man usurping his authority among the ranks of the Myrmidons in non-battle situations, having him do so in front of those outsiders and on such an important issue really irked him. "Keep an eye on our guests, men; Patroclus and I need to have a word."

The rest of the Myrmidons obliged, closing off the circle around Hector and Odysseus as Eudores and Patroclus walked away so that they could have some measure of privacy. "What do you think you're doing?" hissed Eudores in a furious whisper.

"I'm trying to _not_ spill the blood of one of Achilles' most trusted friends on this beach today," shot back Patroclus.

"Oh, come off it," Eudores scoffed. "It's not to Odysseus that you've been talking to. I can't believe that you're actually trying to help that Prince Hector see Paris; why would you do that?"

Patroclus seemed to deflate a little as the memory came back to him. "I made a promise to Paris," he admitted. Eudores didn't make any sort of comment, so he continued: "It was on the ship that first morning, after Achilles went off to speak to you. Paris was so exhausted; and he was devastated at the thought of never seeing his brother again that I promised that I'd see to it that he would if I had any say in the matter. It probably wasn't the most intelligent vow that I've ever made, but I did it under my own free will and now I have to honor it. Don't make me break my word, Eudores. Please?"

"You've never said 'please' to me outside of the bedroom before," murmured Eudores, lightly caressing the young man's face before pulling his hand back quickly as if it had been burned. "No, I can't do this right now! Achilles told me not to let my foreplay with you interfere with my ability to command."

A flying fist connected with Eudores' arm before he could react against it. "Don't go acting like I'm trying to seduce you," snapped Patroclus, glaring daggers while the older man rubbed his throbbing arm with an affronted expression on his face. "Do you really think that I'd stoop to using sex to get my way? I'd like to think that I have a little more to me than that, and if you think differently I can assure you that this conversation is not be leading to _anything_. You just be glad that you _are_ in command or else you'd be unconscious."

"I'm –"

"Foreplay?" Patroclus cut him off, still ranting. "You jackass; why can't you see it as helping your lover – friend – whatever we are – keep his promise? Or am I just a body you happen to enjoy; someone who owes you sex –"

"No! By the gods, no," groaned Eudores as he shut his eyes in an attempt to escape the diatribe. When had things gotten so complicated between them that he actually cared if his young lover was less than happy with him? Patroclus was still glowering at him when he opened his eyes. "This really means a lot to you, doesn't it?"

"I'm glad you noticed," Patroclus spat back, petulant and sarcastic. "Quick; if you can manage to say my name correctly I'll have sex with you right here, right now in front of everybody."

"I didn't mean to imply that you would use sex to get your own way," Eudores told him through gritted teeth. Yes;_ definitely_ more complicated than he'd ever imagined them capable of becoming. He let out a sigh. "Fine then; if he's willing to entrust Prince Hector's keeping to us I won't oppose you taking Odysseus to see Achilles."

_OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO_

This was farther than perhaps they could have hoped to get and Odysseus was entirely grateful. Of course he hated leaving Hector alone with the oftentimes ill-tempered Myrmidons, but they had to take whatever opportunities became available to them. Besides, he trusted that Eudores was taken enough with Achilles' cousin to think twice before acting in any way that the young Myrmidon might not appreciate. Patroclus' intervention on their behalf was almost enough for Odysseus to forgive the sly little fox that was walking slightly in front of him.

They marched in silence until they reached the yard outside of Achilles' home. "Wait here," instructed Patroclus. "It would probably be best if he came out to see you instead of you invading his and Paris' space." He took a few steps forward toward the door before hesitating and turning around to look the king in the eye. "Why are you traveling with that Trojan? And why are you risking losing my cousin's friendship and gaining his wrath by speaking on _his _behalf?"

Odysseus almost said that he could ask the same of him, but thought better of it. "Partly because Achilles and Paris Alexandros don't know the entire story," he answered instead, steadfastly refusing to respond to Patroclus' silent question about the strange name he'd just given for Achilles' lover. "Hector has some things that both of them, especially Paris, need to hear. But mostly because I'd rather die a thousand deaths on Achilles' sword during his words moods than endure one day of what Hector's gone through for more than half his life."

Confused by this declaration and deeply unsettled by the gravity of Odysseus' demeanor, Patroclus rushed inside without pressing him further and reemerged a few minutes later with Achilles. "Here he is, cousin."

"So I see," replied Achilles. "Go back to the beach, Patroclus; make sure that our uninvited guest understands all of our rules."

Odysseus offered the warrior a slight smile as Patroclus sprinted off but Achilles made no move away from the door. "Paris is sleeping," he said curtly. "I won't let anyone disturb him."

Ithaca's king nodded, more in acknowledgement of the statement than in agreement. "I came to ask you to give Hector of Troy leave to see Paris."

"No."

Any other answer would have shocked him into a coma; Odysseus refused to be deterred so easily. "Why not?"

"If you have to ask me that then you're not as smart as you used to be," Achilles told him incredulously. "Hector would take him back to Troy, to a father who would use him as a prostitute for the city's nobles and foreign leaders. He knew about Priam's plans for a long time."

"No he didn't," asserted Odysseus with so much force that Achilles was taken aback. "You weren't there when I told him what his father said to me. If you were, you would know just how wrong those words are."

Achilles shook his head stubbornly. "Even if that were true," he said, "it still wouldn't change the fact that he wants to take the person I love away. I won't let him come."

"But you promised Paris that Hector could visit if he behaved himself," Odysseus argued.

"I did not," insisted Achilles.

That one blatant lie caused Odysseus to reach the end of his patience. "You made that promise to Paris right before you killed those two guards," he told him fiercely.

For one of the few times in his life, Achilles was absolutely stunned. "How could you – how did you know that?"

"Julian heard everything!" cried Odysseus as all of the emotions that prudence required he hold back came pouring out. "By Athena, you're just standing there oblivious of what you left behind in Troy! There's a ten-year-old servant boy who witnessed your little encounter with his master from start to finish and ended up imprisoned for it, all because he accidentally dropped the toy that Paris had just told him not to lose. There's a young prostitute who was abused at the hands of the aforementioned guards and later whipped by Lord Isidore for helping you and you don't even know who he is and what he did. There are soldiers and guards who would have died to protect Paris, and the Lady Andromache who loves him as well. And, until a few weeks ago, there were also me and my men. You left us there, Achilles, to face whatever punishment that the king could dream up."

"Yes, but –"

"Hector wants to see Paris in order to make sure that he's all right," Odysseus cut him off. "He won't try to take him by force; you can even stand right outside the door the entire time to make sure that he doesn't try anything." He could see Achilles' stubbornness wavering and went in for the kill. "If you can't justify doing this as a favor to me, just think of it as actually keeping your word to the person that you so readily declare to love."

Achilles' face scrunched in frustration as his resolve crumbled. "Very well," he spat out. "But I'm not going to move from my spot while he's here, unless it's to kill him. Let's get this over with."

"Thank you." With those words, Odysseus rushed off.

Achilles was already regretting his decision, but there was nothing that his honor would let him do about it; all that he could do was wake his lover. Heaving a great sigh, he went back inside and walked to the bedroom. Paris was there, stretched out on their bed and sleeping contentedly. He knelt down beside him, stroking his cheek, and the boy's eyelids fluttered open.

"Good morning," Paris murmured, smiling up at his waker.

"Good morning indeed," Achilles smiled back, leaning forward to kiss him lightly on the lips.

Paris frowned. "What's wrong?"

"What makes you think that something's wrong?"

"That's not the good morning kiss that I'm used to," replied Paris seductively, playfulness dancing all over his face. "Your kisses usually keep us in bed for another hour or so." When Achilles didn't respond to his question or his seduction, Paris' tone changed to one of concern. "What's wrong?" he repeated.

"Nothing. Probably," Achilles amended. "Your brother arrived this morning. He wants to see you."

Paris' face brightened. "Hector's here?" he asked eagerly before his smile faltered. "Is he going to take me back to Troy?"

The very suggestion made Achilles tense in anticipation of a fight. "Not while I still breathe," he promised.

"I would like to see him – very much so," Paris declared. He sat up and blushed. "Although I should probably have some clothes on when I do."

_OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO_

There was a knock on the door just as Paris dressing. Achilles followed after as his young lover rushed out of the bedroom and vainly willed him to change his mind and send Hector away. When that proved futile, the warrior opened the door and found Odysseus standing there with Hector at his side. The Trojan prince ignored him entirely, hurrying wordlessly past him and embracing Paris, clutching him as if he feared that he would disappear all over again if he didn't hold on tightly. Odysseus threw Achilles a look that the Myrmidon couldn't read before leading him outside and giving Hector and Paris the privacy that they would need.

Paris only vaguely noticed his lover's exit, so joyful he was at finally being able to see Hector again. He returned the hug wholeheartedly. "I missed you so much," he said. The older man didn't respond, but Paris could feel tremors running throughout his body.

Hector didn't move away when he at last broke the hug; instead he held Paris' face with both hands. It was then that Paris saw that his face was red and his cheeks were wet with tears. The sight made the boy recall the first and only other time he'd seen him cry: when Paris was six he'd started asking questions about his mother during one of their nighttime visits. It had frightened him to see Hector fall apart like that, and now taking in his painfully relieved expression Paris felt something else: guilt.

"I'm sorry," he said lamely, knowing how trite it sounded. "I didn't mean to make you upset, but I couldn't stay there. Father –"

Hector shut his eyes and kissed Paris' brow. "I know."

The boy freed his face from Hector's grasp and moved a few paces back, feeling ashamed that his brother was finally aware of what Priam had in store for him. "He wanted to whore me," he whispered brokenly. It almost sounded like a confession and Hector's heart twisted to hear it. "My own father thinks that I'm nothing but a whore."

"No, that's not true," said Hector quietly. "You don't understand –"

That wasn't the right way to begin; Hector regretted his choice of words as soon as they'd left his mouth. He cringed as Paris looked up sharply. "Pray tell me," Paris said sarcastically with a fire and a strength that Hector had never seen in him before. It made him…proud. "How am I wrong about this situation?"

"Paris, please –"

"No," he interrupted abruptly. "You just told me that I'm wrong about the most devastating experience of my life. Now I want you to explain to me how that is; what could possibly make me understand all of this?"

"He's not your father, Paris," Hector blurted out before he lost his nerve. "Priam's not your father. I am."

To be continued…


	12. The truth can be a bitter pill to swallo...

Time seemed to stop for Hector as he stared wide-eyed at Paris, searching with quiet desperation for a sign indicating the boy's reaction to his news. It was strange: in a way he'd lived the last sixteen years in anticipation of this very moment, encouraged by dreams of instant acceptance as well as plagued by nightmares of utter and final rejection. Now it was finally here and he almost wished that he could take it back – _almost_. That frightened part of him that he allowed to control his relationship with his oldest child had been subdued and he knew that he had to be strong enough to answer for his actions.

Paris didn't say anything at first; nor did he so much as twitch a muscle except to blind once as he looked blankly at Hector. There was no hint as to how he was feeling – or maybe he just wasn't feeling anything at all. The elder prince recalled the horrible nightmare he'd had while aboard the Ithacan ship. _'The gods wouldn't turn Paris to sand!' _he told himself, but the irrational fear was still there. After all, he _wasn't_ worthy to be his son's father, but all he could do now was fervently hope that they would take it out on him and leave Paris to live in love and peace.

Finally, finally an expression came upon Paris' face: one of exasperation. Paris, if Hector was reading him correctly, was _annoyed_ by his heart wrenching admission. "Stop trying to be funny, Hector," Paris all but snapped, "or whatever it is that you're trying to do. I know that you think that this will make me feel better but let me assure you that I'm not a child anymore. I'll take the truth, no matter how difficult it is to hear, over your pleasant lies if you don't mind. Stop sidestepping my question."

He didn't believe him. _'Did you really expect him to?'_ Hector scolded himself. _'What proof does he have that I'm telling the truth? I haven't offered him any.' _He was at a loss for words; he'd been so consumed in preparing for what he would do if Paris was angry or felt betrayed that he'd never taken the time to consider what he should do if Paris didn't think that he was being serious. Now he had to find a way to think on his feet about one of the most important matters in his life and figure out the best way to convince him of the truth.

"Paris," he said aloud, stammering a little as he fumbled for the correct words, "I know that this is no laughing matter – _believe _me. I'm not trying to avoid your question by weaving what I think to be a more pleasant fiction; I have seen all too clearly what those kinds of lies lead to. This is the truth, Paris: I truly am your father."

"I can't believe you're doing this!" cried Paris with much irritation. "You sailed all the way from Troy and braved facing the Myrmidons in battle and now you insist on playing some sort of child's game with me! Well, let me inform you that your efforts are wasted and that I don't appreciated being treated like this. That man who you passed by on your way in here was Achilles is my _lover_. He doesn't treat me like a child and I've come to rather enjoy that. So if you've said all that you came here to say you can just get back on your ship and leave right now." Shaking his head disapprovingly and disappointedly he added, "I thought that you were better than this."

It was obvious to Hector that he needed to take another approach to convince his son – anything to not have to bear that look in his eyes one moment longer! "I was fourteen," he persisted firmly, his gaze unflinchingly focused on Paris. Apollo, he hoped that he had enough strength to get through this without breaking down. "It was over sixteen years ago but I can still describe everything that happened the night that you were born, down to the most insignificant detail. Not most men see their child's birth but I was there holding your mother's hand and trying to witness the exact moment that you came into the world. It seemed so – unreal, so impossible and yet when it was all over with, there you were. You were covered with some blood and odd gooey substance and crying so loud; I'd never seen anything so perfect before."

The earnestness with which Hector spoke made it difficult to deny what he was saying was true, and yet Paris fought to continue to not believe him. If what he was saying…if Priam wasn't…if Hector _was_…then everyone who claimed to or pretended to love him until he met Achilles had done nothing but lie to him for all of his life. Apollo, it made his _life_ one gigantic lie, for all that he was had been based on being the youngest son of King Priam of Troy. The only true thing about him, if that wasn't true, was his love for the Myrmidon warrior and even _that_ would have its basis in falsehoods. How could Hector – _'my_ _brother_,' he asserted silently, afraid to face the possibility of him being anything else – do this to him?

"Stop it, Hector," he said warningly, his voice shaking a little.

But Hector couldn't undo what he'd told him nor, he determined, would he choose to if he could. "You've had those dark curls covering your head since you were born," he continued, taking a small step forward and lightly touching Paris' hair with the utmost tips of his fingers. The boy shrank away a little but he didn't move out of reach. "They took you away right after, but I was able to track you down and I got to see you all cleaned up that night. It was, however, another twenty-nine hours, seventeen minutes, and forty-four seconds before I could hold you."

Hector was momentarily overwhelmed by the memory of that night; it was then that he had realized that he could never be satisfied with simply catching a glimpse of Paris as chance allowed, when he made the decision to defy his father in order to see him again. "You were so good when I finally took you in my arms," he recalled tearfully. "So sweet and quiet, like you'd been waiting for me and were happy that I'd finally arrived. Like" – his voice cracked –"like you knew that I was your father."

Paris sucked in a deep breath. And then another, and another. _'He's starting to hyperventilate,'_ Hector realized. Letting his paternal instincts take control he lunged forward, grabbing one of Paris' arms in order to provide some support and rubbing gentle circles into his back with the other hand. "Relax," he instructed soothingly. "If you don't relax and concentrate on breathing normally you'll pass out."

Receiving the comforting, fatherly touch, the one that he'd been deprived of for all of his life only to receive now after he'd made the decision to reject his false father Priam by running away, was too much for his already-taxed emotions to handle. _"Get away from me!" _Paris screamed, violently shoving Hector away.

He pushed with so much force that Hector went sprawling to the floor, landing painfully on his back while Paris himself stumbled down onto his hands and knees. Hector propped himself up and saw his son on all fours, his body visibly shaking. "You liar!" the boy shouted furiously at him before dropping his head and letting out a broken cry. "You liar…"

_OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO_

Odysseus watched Achilles with an almost passive look on his face as the warrior glared at the closed door, as if he thought that if he stared long and hard enough that he could actually see through it. "I don't believe I've ever seen this side of you before," he commented in a blasé tone. "Well, maybe with Patroclus but never to this degree. It's downright…_paternal_ of you, Achilles."

"I'm no more paternal toward Paris than you are toward Penelope," Achilles replied gruffly, not taking his eyes off the door. "You wouldn't want to leave her alone with someone who was going to hurt her, would you?"

"He's all right," promised Odysseus. "Hector would take on Atlas' duty of holding the world on his shoulders if he thought it was the best thing for Paris."

Achilles didn't look at all placated. "Why did I agree to this?" he groaned regretfully. "I could have had the entire Myrmidon army out here with me, ready and waiting for my command in case something terrible happens. Why didn't I at least stay inside to keep an eye on things?"

"Because you knew that your Paris needs to deal with whatever Hector has to tell him alone," responded Odysseus wisely. "Let him confront his emotions before having to share them with you."

"Hector's going to trying something."

"He's not –"

"_Get away from me!_ You liar!"

The sound of Paris' anguished scream froze Achilles' blood for a split second before it started to boil. He'd been kind enough to let that worthless Trojan onto his land, into his home, and alone in the presence of the person that Achilles was in love with and _this _is how he repaid the courtesy? By attacking his lover, trying to do the gods-know-what to him in the very place where Paris was supposed to be safe? Even Priam's crimes against the boy paled in comparison to this treachery, for Paris had loved and trusted Hector to the point where he'd wanted to remain in Troy until the older prince returned. Achilles was going to tear Hector's limbs off and then beat him with them for betraying him!

"Achilles!" Odysseus sprang forward as the warrior drew his sword and charged ahead, but was unable to restrain him. After a seconds-long struggle – that Odysseus would remember with a thanks to every god and goddess on Olympus and beyond that Achilles was too focused on getting inside to bother with putting forth the effort to harm _him_ for many years to come – the front door gave way with a crash. The Myrmidon raced inside with Odysseus still trying vainly to restrain him; but the sword stilled in his hand at the scene that met him: both of the Trojan princes were a few feet away from each other, on the floor and crying.

"I'm sorry," Hector was sobbing. Paris remained in his spot, only moving to turn his head totally away from his newfound father. For Hector that gesture was as much as a sign of rejection as spitting on him and it broke his heart. "I never wanted to hurt you – I love you! I love you so much that sometimes I'm surprised that there's room inside of me for anything else. You were – you _are_ – my baby and I loved you from the moment that I found you were coming. I wanted you to have everything that you could ever possibly need and want, and I made a horrible mistake in trying to make sure that happened. He told me that I'd hurt you and that he'd protect you from pain, from _me_, and I believed him. There's no excuse for what I did! Oh Apollo, I let him take my Alexandros to turn into his Paris!"

Achilles' mouth fell open in shock when he realized what the implications of Hector's words were. Was Hector really Paris' father? It seemed unlikely that anyone as visible as a king or a prince would be able to pull of such a deception without everyone knowing, let alone keep it secret for so long. He would have just dismissed it as a trick of the older prince's to gain Paris' trust, and yet…. As he considered the possibility all of the puzzle pieces that had been befuddling him – Priam's utter coldness toward the one person outside of family that was able to inspire Achilles' warm side; Hector's unconventional but persistent presence and influence in Paris' life; Odysseus' willingness to risk so much in order to assist the prince – began to fall into place. Now that he looked at the two of them he could see the strong resemblance that so clearly marked them as father and son. Perhaps the question wasn't if Hector was Paris' father, but why hadn't anyone noticed before.

"You abandoned me," Paris choked out, still refusing to face Hector, fiercely determined not to let him see the hurt in his expression or the tears streaming down his cheeks. "And not just the once when you cast me aside into _your_ father's so-called care; but every single moment after that when you could have chosen to tell me the truth and didn't. Was I really that much of an unpleasant memory to you? A reminder of past mistakes, one that had no place in your new life. You – you were so busy in starting over again that you only bothered to see me – the shameful secret of your past – whenever I happened to pop into your mind. Why did you even bother with that, Hector; was the guilt too much for you?"

"No," Hector protested, shaking his head vehemently. "Father forbade me to have anything to do with you and if I tried to see you in a too obvious way he would have made it even more difficult. He always said that it wouldn't be good for either of us to get attached to each other because I would be too weak to continue on with the lies and end up hurting you. For years I believed him; I thought that I was weak and selfish because I couldn't stand _not_ seeing you."

Ever so slowly Paris looked over at him. "Ever since the moment that I let Father claim you I've been thinking up different ways that would allow me to spend even a second longer in your presence," Hector went on, inching closer to his son's bent body. Paris saw this but didn't make a move. "I've snuck into your chambers – most of the time when you were awake, but sometimes, when it was really late, just to watch you sleep – bribed guards, and done other things that I'm not very proud of; but I'd do it all again in a heartbeat if it was a choice between that and not seeing you at all. I didn't cut myself off from you because I didn't want to. Don't you see, Paris? I've been dying a little bit every day since the moment he took you but I thought that you'd be better off. I couldn't abandon you, though, or lose you wholly without cutting out my own heart in the process. Even if it was just as your brother I needed to be with you. I love you more than I can say."

Tentatively he moved his hand to touch Paris' shoulder; his son remained still. Realizing that he wouldn't be recoiled, Hector engulfed him in his arms, pulling him into a fierce embrace. Paris stiffened at first but then relaxed against him. _'He knows that I'm his father,'_ the elder prince thought in awe, _'and he's still letting me hold him. For the first time in over sixteen years he knows who I really am and is letting me hold him.' _He let out a breath that he didn't know he was holding and nuzzled his cheek into Paris' curly hair.

"Achilles," Odysseus whispered discreetly to his friend so as not to disturb them, "they need to be alone right now." No arguments against this assessment came and he led the mesmerized warrior outside again.

Paris sniffled loudly before looking up at Hector. "I have so many questions," he said tearfully.

"I'll answer whatever questions you ask me, no matter what," Hector vowed to him. "No more lies."

"Where is my mother?" asked Paris, going back in his mind once again to that night where his inquires about her made Hector cried. Now learning that he'd actually held her hand while he was being born; if he'd only known…. "It's obvious that Father – Grandfather – Priam – what do I call him now? Or you?"

"Whatever you feel most comfortable with," responded Hector, burying his burning desire to hear Paris call him 'Father.' He had no right to force that now. "I can still be 'Hector' and you can still call him "Fa' – 'Father' if that's what you want."

"He was never my father," said Paris darkly. "Not ever. But I don't want to talk about that or him right now. This is about how he didn't think that you were capable of raising me, not even with the help of a governess. It's plain to see that he doesn't care about me, except as a negotiation tool, so why did I end up with him and not living in anonymity with my mother? Is she Andromache?"

Hector shook his head. "No," he answered. "I didn't meet Andromache until years after all of this. Your mother was a servant – my only friend, in those days – named Ianthe and you're not with her because she – died." Hector then told him everything that he told the nobles on the day that they truth came to light; about Ianthe, their relationship, her death, and how Priam manipulated all of that to claim him as his own son.

Paris was shaking by the time Hector had concluded his tale. "This is so much," he moaned, covering his eyes with one hand. "Why? Why did he take me? Wouldn't it have been more convenient just to kill me?"

"It was never about convenience; Father's decision was about the way that he loves us," said Hector. Paris gave him a hard disbelieving look and he knew that he needed to amend his statement. "He does love us, but not in a way that's nurturing and good. It's the same way that he loved my mother: as possessions firmly under his control. He wanted to imbed as much of himself that he could in my mind, soul – well, every part of me – so that he can still control the monarchy after he descended to the Underworld. My relationship with Ianthe was the first time that I did something that he would have disapproved of and it threatened all that he'd been trying to do with me. Taking you was his way to regain control of the situation. Later on, when everyone else realized just how beautiful you are, he came to view you as another treasure of Troy, a point of pride. So long as people were whispering rumors about how gorgeous you are he could add possessing one of the most beautiful people in the world on top of having a mighty army and enormous wealth."

"But he treated both his army and his wealth with more care than he ever treated me," pointed out Paris, still incredulous. "I was lower in his eyes than most of the servants, and you know how much contempt he shows for them."

"Everything he felt toward you was so twisted," Hector gently agreed. "I'm certain that it at least in part was because of your mother. He sees as much of her as he does of me every time he looks at you. He despised her, called her a…"

"A whore?" Paris supplied. Hector nodded silently. "When Achilles first started trying to spend time with me, Priam was furious. He pulled me into an empty room with so much force that I thought he'd pull my arm out and hit me. After threatening to toss me to the Greeks for them to sate their lusts, he told me that Lord Isidore would 'initiate' me into the palace prostitutes and that he'd be there when it happened to make sure that he hurt me sufficiently and that I learned to enjoy the pain. He was just going to stand there and watch that monster rape me."

"Oh Apollo," Hector gasped in horror. The coldness was terrible enough, and his plans for Paris to become one of those prostitutes even worse, but he hadn't realized how insane and sickening Priam's feelings toward Paris had become. It made him want to wretch.

"You didn't know, did you?" Paris pulled away a little to look him in the eye. "Not just about what I've told you, but about anything that they were planning to do to me."

"Of course not," declared Hector ardently. "The reason that the truth came out was because I discovered that Father was going to force you to become a prostitute. If I'd have known how twisted all of this truly was I would have destroyed them both."

Paris believed him – he could tell by the look in his eye and the sincerity of his tone. The boy scooted forward and nestled into Hector's arms again. They sat like that quietly for a long time before Paris spoke again. "You truly are my father." There was still a bit of a question in his statement.

"I am," affirmed Hector, almost overwhelmed by the absolute delight he took in finally being able to say that aloud. "I am, I am, I am. I am fortunate enough to be your father. I am the proud father of Paris Alexandros of Troy."

He could hear the smile in Paris' voice as he replied: "I think I'm glad about that, Father."

_OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO_

Odysseus and Achilles weren't there when Hector and Paris emerged from the hut a while later. "Maybe they're down at the beach," he suggested, a little surprised that the Myrmidon wasn't hovering outside the door. "I _did_ tell my men that they weren't to do anything without Achilles' command; Odysseus could have asked him to attend to them."

And that's where they found them, along side of a couple of other surprises. Firstly, the Trojans and Ithacans that had been ordered to stay on the ship were now standing among the Myrmidons on the beach. Odysseus' men mingled well enough with those of Achilles' and even though the Trojans were still eying them warily they were still being welcomed with the chance to stand on solid land and eat fresh food. The second surprise floated next to the Ithacan ship that had brought Odysseus, Hector, and their men: another, Myrmidon, ship that was being readied for sailing. The two Grecian leaders themselves stood somewhat apart from all the activities, waiting for father and son to arrive.

"Paris!" called Achilles when he spotted them, jogging over immediately. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fantastic," Paris assured him. "What's going on here?"

Achilles smiled brightly at him. "We've saved everyone some time," he replied.

Paris raised an eyebrow, silently requesting for him to elaborate. "You two were going to have a fight," Odysseus jumped in to explain, "because you need to go back to Troy. Not forever – just to attend to some of the messes that were left behind by all of us – but he doesn't want you to leave at all. You two would have gotten wrapped up in a rather heated discussion, during which Achilles would have ranted and raved while you tried to be patient at first and then lost your temper. Then it would have been a full-blown argument until I – the sly fox that I am – broke it up, forced him to listen to reason, and suggested a compromise. Time is of the essence now, however, and I went through all of this in my mind so that we could skip ahead to the compromise: you're going to Troy like you need to and Achilles – along with his men – are coming with you."

"What?" asked Hector, astonished.

The warrior looked at him full-on. "I'm not some raping, pillaging brute, no matter what the fireside stories say," Achilles told him. "I did what I had to do because I couldn't leave someone that I'm in love with at the mercy of that cold bastard of a father. I can, however, offer my allegiance to a father who loves him dearly – just as long as that father doesn't try to do anything that I would interpret as standing in the way of our relationship."

"I wouldn't do that," promised Hector with a smile. For the first time he felt like he could actually end up liking his son's lover. "I admire and respect your fealty to Paris. No matter what happens you have my blessing to be with my son."

"I don't need it," replied Achilles blithely, "but it's nice to have."

To be continued…


	13. Two ships that pass

Hector had come to both love and loath the little cabin that he'd been assigned to aboard the Ithacan ship on the voyage from Troy. It had been a sanctuary of sorts; a place for him to retreat to when his fears and concerns about telling Paris that he was his father threatened to overwhelm him – almost every moment, really – and he didn't want to break down in front of the men. Of course, without that human contact, the cabin had also become a place of total isolation, where the past and possible future could torment him ceaselessly until he was almost driven mad. Being in it now, on the return trip to whatever awaited him in his homeland, he knew that the demons were gone and it would become one of the locations that he'd remember most fondly for the rest of his days.

The reason for that shift in emotions was currently stuffing the few possessions that he had with him under the other cot in the corner of the cabin. "I'm glad that this bed is in here and not in another part of the ship," Paris chattered away conversationally to disguise the sudden nervousness he felt about spending so much time alone with Hector. It was silly, he knew, but he almost felt like he didn't know how to act around him now that he knew that the man was really his father. That combined with the fact that they'd never spent more than a few hours alone together before made the boy feel a little self-conscious.

What would they have to say to each other now that the confessions and acceptances were through? Hector was a seasoned warrior who'd traveled all over the Aegean and seen many great things while Paris' knowledge of the world was limited to Troy and Pthia, Achilles' homeland and the only notable thing that had ever happened to him was his romance with the Myrmidon warrior. Somehow Paris doubted that his newfound father would want to hear him drone on and on about their relationship. The silence, however, was just as noticeable and so, at a loss as to what else he could do, he continued to babble on about nothing.

"I don't really like being alone but I'd probably feel uncomfortable around the men, seeing how little I know them, so this is a nice place to sleep," Paris said, feeling his face turn red. Apollo, he sounded so stupid! He desperately wished to change the subject but found that he didn't know how without making the situation even more awkward. "It was nice of the men to set this up for me."

"They didn't," replied Hector, feeling just as uncomfortable as his son did at the moment. What had he been thinking? He'd focused for so long on just getting the truth out that he'd never giving much thought to what would happen after the initial reaction, barring a few highly unrealistic fantasies about living the perfect family life with Paris, Andromache, and Astyanax. Funny; in those fantasies he could clearly see himself talking to Paris, the two of them smiling, laughing, and totally at ease, but he could never really hear the most important part of all – what they were saying. "I prepared that cot on the night that we set out from Troy. Not that I was _planning _on you leaving with me or anything, but…it was, well, it was my symbol of hope that you wouldn't hate me forever once you learned the truth."

He ended with a nervous chuckle that made Paris study his face more closely. He was stunned to see that Hector feeling as insecure as he was. He'd always imagined the elder prince as someone who was always at ease with himself, a foundation for the others in his life who wavered so easily; it actually made the boy feel better to know that his father didn't know quite what to say either. "That – that wouldn't have happened," he stammered, trying to be comforting. "You – I – you are the one person who loved me all my life, no matter what role you were playing in it, and I was hurt and angry, but I could never hate you, Hec-Father."

"You can call me whatever you want," Hector reminded him lamely, torn between not wanting to make Paris feel forced into their new relationship and the almost debilitating happiness he felt at hearing the word _Father_ come from the boy's mouth while he was addressing him.

"I know that; it might take a while for me not to slip," replied Paris as he clasped his hands together and looked down at them, "but I do want to call you 'Father'. You were always the only parental figure in my life, even when you were supposed to be my brother."

His head snapped up. "You were the most important person in my life and I didn't want to leave Troy without saying good-bye," he blurted out. Maybe if he explained all of this to him Hector wouldn't feel so ill at ease. "I wanted to wait until you got back so I could tell you about Priam, Lord Isidore, and about how much Achilles and I love each other so that you would understand. Then those guards got into my bedchamber when Achilles was there and he killed them…and I was just so scared that someone else would get in there while I was alone…"

Hector ran a hand over one side of Paris head, cupping the boy's face. "I know that you told Achilles that you didn't want to leave without saying goodbye to me," he said soothingly. "Julian told me."

"I still can't believe that he witnessed all of that," commented Paris, guild evident in his voice. "Poor thing – he shouldn't have had to. He must be so traumatized."

"He wasn't in the best of states when I left," admitted Hector reluctantly. He didn't want to tax his son's already frazzled emotions even more by adding to his worries about his ten-year-old servant, but it was better to prepare him for what he might be faced with when they returned rather than lying to him that all was well. "But I think that he was more confused and scared for you than irrevocably traumatized. After all, all that he knew about Achilles and the Myrmidons were rumors and exaggerations about his viciousness; seeing you alive and unharmed will do much for his recovery."

"I'll have a talk with him the first chance I get," vowed Paris mostly to himself. He glanced around him for a moment before frowning and sticking his hand under the cot again. "It may not be entirely _proper_ for a prince feel this way, but I've grown quite fond of Julian in the two years that he's been attending me. I hate to think that I did something that hurt him so much." His eyes brightened as his fingers found what he'd been searching for. "Here it is."

Paris pulled his hand out and revealed a wadded-up garment held tightly in his fist. "I see that you found something of great value," Hector attempted to joke.

"It is, considering our current circumstances," retorted Paris, his tone consciously light.

"Remind me to show you how to take better care of your treasure then," said Hector with almost sickly smile as he tried to sound teasing without being insulting. "It only takes a few more minutes to fold your clothing and it will look all the more better for the effort. I could help you sort out those big piles of wadded garments right now if you'd like."

The last thing Paris wanted was for Hector to accidentally find what _else_ was in those piles besides clothing. "It doesn't need to look nice," he replied hastily. "It's only my sleeping tunic. I thought I'd remembered to set it aside but it was mixed in with everything else I'd packed and I wasn't able to sift it out at first."

"Was your travel bag that unorganized?" Hector frowned. "You didn't need to pack so quickly, Paris; we had plenty of time before we set sail."

"It's nothing like that; I just didn't recognize it so readily because I never wear it." Paris froze as soon as those words left his mouth. Fantastic – why didn't he just tell Hector that he was always too exhausted after a night of sex with Achilles to dress again and it was just as well anyway, considering what they did first thing in the morning? What a suitable topic for a father-son discussion!

"It's very hot in Pthia," he babbled, hoping to explain it away and really just digging himself into a deeper hole. "Hotter than Troy, I think – though you might not have noticed because it takes a few days to feel it – and the hut doesn't have nearly as many windows as the palace does. It makes sleeping very uncomfortable at times; I always get so sticky in bed." He winced visibly. "I mean _sweaty_ – from the heat, not from, um, well –"

"It's all right, Paris; I understand," broke in Hector, desperate for both their sakes for the boy to stop before he unintentionally revealed too much more. It was bad enough to have had to listen to Julian's innocent testimony about his son's encounter with Achilles! He could accept that Paris had an intimate relationship with the Myrmidon – because he had to – but preferred to think of it more in abstract terms than physical reality.

'_New subject, new subject, new subject;'_ his mind chanted the suggestion until he regained the words needed to heed it. "That's an unusual garment," he stated, gesturing awkwardly at the sleeping tunic. "Well, not _unusual_ I guess, but rather it's simpler than what you usually wear. It's in the fashions of the Myrmidons, is it not? Just like…." He eyed what Paris was wearing and suddenly recalled what he'd worn the previous day when Hector and Achilles arrived. All of those garments appeared to be similar to what Paris had just stowed away under his cot. "It's all Myrmidon clothing; everything you have."

Playing with the hem of his waistcloth, Paris was silent at first. "Not all of it," he answered at last. "I have the garments that I was wearing when I left Troy under there too, but that's all I have with me that's Trojan. I didn't have the opportunity to pack anything before it became vital for us to leave at once."

"It must have been difficult to leave behind all of the things that you hold dear."

Paris looked him in the eye. "It wasn't my possessions that I had a hard time leaving," he said emotionally and Hector understood what he meant. "All of those garments – they were fine and beautiful but they made me feel cheap, like they were F-Priam's way of trying to make people desire me even more. I feel – good in this clothing." He smiled and blinked away the tears. "Anyway, thank Apollo for Patroclus – Achilles' cousin. He let me borrow some of his clothing until I had the chance to get some of my own. He's only a few years older than I am and just a little bit taller, although I'm afraid that it's quite plain to see that he has a much broader build than I do."

"That was kind of him indeed," commented Hector, remembering the brash young man who'd asserted his unofficial authority to allow Odysseus to talk to Achilles. It appeared that he'd be even more indebted to the young Myrmidon now that he knew that Patroclus had taken care of Paris' needs like that.

"He's a good friend," nodded Paris in agreement. "I never had one of those before I met him."

Myrmidon clothing, a Myrmidon friend, a Myrmidon lover, and a new Myrmidon home: it felt to Hector that his son was slipping away just when he'd finally gotten him back. "I brought along a few of your things as well," he said, pulling up a small bag from beside his bed and patting it almost defensively. "Just a few items – I wasn't sure what you had and what you would need. Nothing, apparently…"

Paris hated hearing the despondency buried in Hector's tone. "Father –"

"I also made you something," interrupted Hector, not wanting to burden Paris with his own selfish desires about what would never be. He reached under his pillow where the toy animal that he'd carved during those final nerve-wracking days of the previous journey laid undisturbed and handed it to Paris, who accepted it with a good deal of curiosity. "It's a horse," the elder prince explained unnecessarily.

"Yes it is."

"A Trojan horse."

"A Trojan horse," repeated Paris thoughtfully, examining it carefully. "That's good; I _am_ a Trojan. No matter how many ties with the Myrmidons I forge I will always remember where I came from and who my people are. Nothing that happened there will change that fact."

The boy's voice sounded a little too melancholy for Hector's peace of mind. "It wasn't a very happy place for you to come from, was it?" he lamented. "I'm so sorry, my son. You deserved to have the happiest childhood imaginable and I ended up doing everything to make that _not_ happen. You should have had miles of shelves so covered with all types of toys that you could never see the top of the wood instead of one little horse when you've grown too old to play with it."

"It's true that I would have liked to have received this when I was young enough to properly enjoy it," conceded Paris. He ran his fingertips over the smooth wood and recalled the dream he'd had that turned out to be strangely similar to this moment. It had evoked some confusing emotions and he was grateful for that because now he understood them enough to detangle them. He was poignantly sad, for he knew that his lonely childhood could never be undone no matter how many happy memories he and Hector created from now on; yet filled with joy at the same time to finally receive that token of a father's love that he'd wanted for so long, knowing that it was a symbol that they could now make those aforementioned memories. "But I'd much rather get this a little later than I should have than not at all. Thank you, Father."

Tears pricked Hector's eyes. "You're welcome," he whispered shakily, embracing Paris tightly. "I'm so glad that you agreed to sail with me on this voyage. It was very – lonely – here all by myself."

"Now will probably be the only chance we have to spend time together without other people around who really need your attention too," said Paris. "Who knows what things will be like it Troy, but those refugees will need you to lead them no matter what. Your men here, though, seem to have fallen into a predictable routine with the Ithacans; and yours and Odysseus' seconds-in-commands come across as more-than-adequate leaders. Besides, I have many years of being with Achilles ahead of me – it won't kill us to spend a few weeks apart, despite what he might have you believe."

"He wasn't very happy about this, was he?" stated Hector with a touch of dryness. Achilles hadn't been at all silent about his displeasure in traveling without his lover at his side. _'Hector could always come aboard the Myrmidon ship and travel with us,'_ had been his argument and he felt that it was a good one. Paris, however, had resisted that, knowing that his changed relationship with Hector was a little too fragile to exist side-by-side with the sometimes overwhelming presence that was Achilles; it needed nurturing to grow and strengthen. Achilles didn't seem willing to just accept that without a fight; his voice had grown louder and louder, making the Trojans especially tense at the sight of their youngest prince standing against the fierce warrior. Odysseus, disappointed that he'd overlooked that point of contention, had intervened once it had become clear that the couple wouldn't reach a resolution on their own. In the end Achilles had reluctantly given in and Odysseus had decided to travel with him to make sure that everything was truly as _'all right'_ as he grumped about, leaving most of his Ithacans on the other ship under the charge of his second-in-command.

It was an unusual situation to say the least, but the men seemed willing to endure it and Hector was more than happy to live with it as long as they were – especially considering the alternatives of traveling without Paris or traveling with Achilles.

_OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO_

"By Athena, why am I being plagued with unpleasant travel companions as of late?" mused Odysseus in exasperation as he leaned against the rail of the deck on the Myrmidon ship. "First I had to travel a great distance with a Trojan who acted like a ghost and now it looks like I'll have to spend just as long with a Myrmidon who's currently doing an uncanny impression of my toddler."

"I'm not about to feel sorry for you," Achilles, who was standing right next to him, groused. "Because I'm stuck with an Ithacan who thinks that his little comments are clever and _won't_ get him run through with my sword."

"Is that any way to speak to the friend that you abandoned to face the consequences of _your_ breaking of Trojan law?"

"Let it go, Odysseus; I've already done all that you've asked of me and you don't make a good martyr anyway," advised Achilles as he strained his eyes to peer at the other ship. "This is a cruel punishment for something that never actually led you or your men to any harm. You're a poor substitute for Paris."

"Please; I didn't come up with this plan to make you unhappy – that was just a lucky bonus." Odysseus gave Achilles a toothy grin that didn't recede under the warrior's glower. "And don't think that we're even because we aren't; not by a long shot. You owe me big, and not by fighting for one of my causes or anything else you might even remotely enjoy. I mean in a drop-everything-so-that-you-can-mind-Astyanax-while-he's-vomiting-having-diarrehia-and-wants-to-cuddle-while-Penelope-and-I-have-a-romantic-vacation kind of big."

Achilles goggled at him for a moment before swallowing resolutely. "I suppose I could handle that," he boasted boldly. "Just as long as Paris can come –"

"Hold!" cried the king, failing in his attempts not to laugh. "You won't be doing that. I'd never actually leave Astyanax in your care for that long – Athena only knows what warrior child we'd return to. I was just using it was a way to illustrate what level of restitution I must ask of you. It was a lousy thing to do to a friend, Achilles."

"I'm not going to apologize," replied Achilles. "I know that you'd find a way out of whatever Priam had in mind. Paris didn't have that same capability. Why were you so stubborn about placing all of your hopes in a prince that you'd only heard about instead of my plan? You could've left with us if only you'd shown an interest in cooperating."

"I was right to trust in Hector!" Odysseus debated smoothly. "He was the key to me and my men escaping Priam – and to breaking that man's final ties to Paris. Your lover doesn't have to wonder why his father doesn't love him because now he has a father who does." Odysseus paused for a moment as a gleefully satisfied grim spread over his face. "You should have seen the scene that Hector made when he found out about what his father was planning for Paris, and in front of the nobles, soldiers, and many guards too! I think that you would have been most impressed."

"I would've liked to have seen the look on that bastard's face when Hector exposed him," agreed Achilles. His jaw clenched and unclenched, followed by a reluctant sigh. "It might be possible that I do owe you one."

It didn't sound like much, but it was more than any man had ever gotten from the Myrmidon warrior and Odysseus knew it. "I'll keep that in mind."

The boat shifted suddenly, testing the balance of everyone on board. Achilles glared fiercely in the direction that the person who was currently in charge of keeping things running smoothly was standing in. "Eudores," he muttered in annoyance. Could he not rely on his second-in-command to carry out even the most basic tasks? It wouldn't do to have him in charge if he couldn't keep his mind on his duty! Something was distracting him and the young man who was probably behind it was just passing by Achilles and Odysseus now.

"Patroclus!" barked Achilles. Patroclus stopped the furious charging that had been his walking for more than a day and went over to his cousin. "What in the name of the gods is going on in Eudores' mind? It's not commanding, that's for certain."

"It's sex."

"Pardon?"

"It's sex," Patroclus repeated with a sharp bite in his tone. "Eudores wants to have a lot of sex. He seeks out people who he thinks will use sex to sway his decision on certain matters so that he'll have an endless supply of it. Don't worry, cousin – I can assure you that not all of his decisions can be changed in such a manner; he does have his standards, even when the whore who's doing the asking doesn't."

"I see," said Achilles darkly. "And is he getting any of this sex?"

"Not from this whore." Patroclus whipped around and stomped off.

Both of the leaders stood in shocked stillness, watching him go. "That was interesting," said Odysseus.

Achilles tightened his hands into fists as all the blood rushed to his face. "Eudores!" he shouted, livid.

Eudores hurried over, knowing by his lord's tone that it wouldn't be wise to make him wait. "Yes, Achilles?"

"What did you do to Patroclus and why are you letting it affect your ability to command?" demanded Achilles, getting right in his face. "I recall warning you on both points, so why is the boat being steered in such an unstable way while Patroclus is marching around, under what had better be the mistaken impression that you think he's a whore?"

Eudores' face turned red and his entire body went rigid. "I don't – I told him – this is all _his_ fault!" he exploded. "First he was just a little smart-mouthed obnoxious brat and I could handle that. Then he had the audacity to grow up into a handsome young man and still retain all the traits that made him a smart-mouthed obnoxious brat, but I was still fine. _Then_ I discovered that he was a handsome young man who I have great sex with; he was still a smart-mouthed obnoxious brat, but that was all right because he could act that way and I could imagine what we'd be doing later when he wasn't talking so much. But now – now he'd gotten into my head and into my heart and it's all complicated and he's _still_ a smart-mouthed obnoxious brat!"

His tirade broke off and he sucked in long-deep breaths as Achilles stared at him. "Get back to your post, Eudores," the lord dismissed with no sympathy in his voice. "And see to it that your mind stays off of my cousin and on the duty at hand."

Odysseus chuckled as he watched Eudores stumble off, rubbing his temples with both hands. "And the saga continues," he commented, his voice full of humor. "Eudores has almost come to terms with the painfully obvious fact that he loves the smart-mouthed obnoxious Patroclus, who hasn't acknowledged his own feelings and is furious with him for an unintentional insult. What will happen next?"

He shifted his jovial gaze to Achilles. "I'm glad that we've found a way to remain friends," he chirped. "What would I do without all of this drama? My life might actually become peaceful and normal."

To be continued…


	14. Darkness before dawn

_A/N: I made an error in the previous chapter when Odysseus referred to his son as "Astyanax" instead of Telemachus. Truth be told, I've been having a bugger of a time keeping those two's names straight: Astyanax is more prominent in this story and it's been a good year and a half since I've read "The Odyssey" so Astyanax is the name that keeps sticking out. I've been catching it until now, and a responsible author would take responsibility for the mistake and promise to do better next time; I will be blaming a fictional baby – shame on you, Astyanax, you stage-hog! _:)

It turned out to be a mixed blessing that it was a clear day when the two ships came within view of Troy again. Hector had hoped for the cloaking of clouds or the night to shield them from sight until they had the chance to regroup; but under the current circumstances the clarity worked to their advantage, for because of that everyone on both decks could see an odd situation unfolding on land. Outside of the main gates of the city stood a small force that was armed and ready for battle.

From the deck of the foremost vessel Hector squinted against the sun, trying to get a better idea of just what they would be facing once they reached the beach and beyond. The conclusion he came to was grim: the force seemed to be flocked completely around the city's entrance. There was no path left for even one person to slip through unnoticed, let alone the combined forces of the Trojans, Ithacans, and Myrmidons in their small fleet. This wasn't necessarily an insurmountable problem; there didn't appear to be too many men in the awaiting army and it wasn't essential that Hector or anyone else return to the city itself anyway. They always had the option of turning slightly to land closer to the mountains where the refugees were gathered, pick up Andromache, Astyanax, and anyone else willing to accept permanent exile from the land, and leave again.

No; Hector felt a pit form in his stomach as he pondered that possibility. It was unlikely that they'd gone unnoticed by now, and seeing the already-assembled force led him to believe that his father could – and would – send out troops to meet them. That would only allow them a miniscule amount of time to ready what would probably be many people for a long voyage when the ships and the people onboard had already been sailing for weeks on end and were running low on supplies. It would do them no good to escape from Priam's wrath only to starve to death at sea or land in a port that had any type of loyalty to the vicious snake. Besides, Hector was not yet willing to concede Troy and its people to the current king. In his heart he loved the city and its people; he'd fought for them, watched people that he cared about die for them; and managed to build a family there under horrible circumstances – leaving it all behind without a fight would, in a way, be letting his father win. There was only one thing left to do, then: prepare the men onboard as best as he could to fight and trust that their battle prowess would prevail over the opposition and their own weariness.

"My prince?" questioned his second-in-command, following Hector's gaze. He set his jaw when he saw the swords flashing in the sunlight.

"Toll the signal bell," ordered Hector. "I cannot see any way that we could avoid a confrontation, so unless anyone else has a brilliant plan Achilles and Odysseus need to be ready for whatever may happen when we hit the beach."

The soldier nodded wordlessly and then turned, shouting out the command. The clanging of the bell vibrated through the air almost instantaneously, only to be answered seconds later by an equally ominous toll from the Myrmidon ship. The prompt reply reassured Hector; it was reasonable to assume, then, that the others were already aware of the inevitability of what was at hand and were about to send out a signal of their own.

'_Good,'_ thought Hector determinedly. _'We seem to be of the same mind. At least now everyone will be as ready as they can be when we meet whoever that is.'_

_OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO_

Paris was sitting on the edge of his cot, just finishing slipping on his second sandal, when one loud bell chime shook the walls of the cabin. It was almost immediately followed by a second, this one coming from farther off. He froze in place and took a deep breath, steeling himself for he knew what their purpose had been: the commanders of each ship were communicating with each other. Since they were supposed to be traveling in relative secret and Troy as close at hand, it could only mean that the city was in sight and that trouble had been spotted.

He pushed himself off of the cot and dropped to his hands and knees, crouching as he searched underneath. There was an undeniable mess; the wadded piles of clothing were hindering his ability to find what he was looking for. It was a shame that those piles had been necessary to sneak the object past Hector because it wasn't exactly the type of item that he could just move his hand blindly to find, not if he didn't want to run the risk of grabbing it in the wrong place.

There! Paris' fingers brushed against the cool metal; he closed them around the hilt and pulled his sword out from under a particularly foreboding heap of soiled laundry. He examined the almost-completely un-notched blade with a combination of pride and regret. Hiding his sword had been an unfortunate necessity – it was well-made and strong, and he was so happy to finally have one of his own after years of being told that he was too weak to wield one; but he had a feeling that Hector wouldn't approve of him carrying around such a weapon receiving any formal training. Trying to explain that it was a gift from Achilles, who had been horrified (only half jokingly) that Paris didn't even possess a knife, most likely wouldn't assuage the apprehension that his father would have – he and Hector were getting more comfortable around each other but the elder prince was still having a bit of a hard time accepting that Paris was grown now and didn't need to be coddled quite so much.

He was willing enough to wait patiently for Hector to deal with his guilt and lingering fantasies that he could get back his son in the same infant-form that he forfeited him in during times of tranquility, but now wasn't one of those times. The bell might as well have been an open invitation for Paris to wear his sword openly. He would need to be armed in case of any trouble; and even if there wasn't any he still wanted to return to the land that he fled with some sort of prominent weapon, namely to send a message to the Trojans that Achilles hadn't taken him against his will. He hated the notion of anyone thinking terrible and untrue things about his lover and it was important to him that the world know that he possessed a means of escape and yet had chosen not to.

Resolutely strapping the sword to his side, Paris raced up to the deck. Already the men were rushing around, shouting out orders, encouragements, and questions as they prepared for battle. The boy could see the land before them that he recognized as the shores of Troy, but that alone didn't explain the level of frenzied activity that followed the sounding of the bells. That meant that something unsettling was waiting for them – something that would require a fight that he could assist in.

In the midst of it all, Hector stood at the farthest out railing, leaning forward as much as he dared with the hopes that getting even a little closer would help him get a better idea of what they would be up against. Paris weaved through the crowd as quickly as he could to stand at his side. "What's going on?" the boy demanded, anxious and eager at the same time.

"I cannot say for certain," answered Hector, pointing to the army at the gates. "Look there; we'll be encountered _something_ very soon. At first I thought that they were a force set in place to stop us or anyone else from entering the city, but now I'm not so sure. Father had no way of knowing until about an hour ago that we would be returning today and those soldiers were already there when we came in sight. There was also no guarantee at all that we would be returning, and even less that we would have the Myrmidons and Ithacans with us; keeping so many men in a constant state of readiness for something that may not happen doesn't make much sense. He would be more likely to try to lull us into a false sense of security before springing a trap than give us so much warning. Therefore, if the army isn't there to keep us out –"

"It could very well be trying to get in," Paris finished for him. "Besiegers?"

"Possibly," replied Hector. "In fact, the more I think about it, the more likely it seems."

Paris squinted, using his hand to shade his eyes from the sunlight. "Well, if that's truly their intention they'll need more than a few more soldiers than what they have," he remarked, marveling at the stupid bravado that someone would have to have to attack the city so openly with so few men. Even the bold Achilles and his infamous Myrmidons had possessed enough sense to opt to sneak out instead.

The mysterious force apparently agreed; Paris' eyes widened as the small army suddenly abandoned the city's gates for a more appropriate target. "They're turning around!" he announced urgently. "It looks like they're heading straight for the beach."

Hector cursed silently; even more inconvenient and perilous than an army waiting for them in a strategic position was having to meet one in a direct attack. "Sound the bell again and get ready!" he shouted. "All men on deck! Do what you have to do now, and do it quickly – we're going to have to make a stand on the beach as soon as our feet hit the sand!"

Paris, already on deck and as ready as he would ever be, stayed where he was, his eyes riveted on the unfolding action on land. "The gates of the city are opening," he reported, even more puzzled than before. Opening the gates with an enemy force so close by was foolish, even when that force was retreating. "They're sending the army out after them. Whoever's heading for us was definitely attacking Troy." More mysteries to mull over: why was the army of Troy risking injury by pursuing the besiegers _after _they had forsaken their attack?

There was no time for anyone to speculate the reasoning employed by either army now; the beach was looming close. "Paris, get below deck," said Hector anxiously.

"To hide among the baggage while my father, lover, and people go into battle?" argued Paris incredulously, his fingers finding their way to the hilt of his sword. "I can fight."

'_Where did he get that?'_ wondered Hector. His thoughts went immediately to the time that he watched in the shadows as Paris stumbled after taking his first steps; he still flinched at the memory and the anguish he felt at not being able to rush to the baby's side to soothe his tears. The skinned knee he'd suffered then would be _nothing_ compared to the injuries he would get now if this was to be his first battle. "No," he told him, almost frantically. "You're going to stay here where it's safe, Paris."

"But Father!" protested Paris. "I can help. Achilles gave me this sword –"

"Paris, please!" Hector's voice was firm but desperate. "It was very – _nice_ – of Achilles to give you that, but having a sword won't make much difference if you haven't been properly trained. I can't lose you again, so please – for my sake if nothing else – stay here and don't argue with me now!" He winced inwardly at how much those words sounded like something that would come out of Priam's mouth; he forced himself that he was doing this to protect Paris and that he wasn't his father.

Paris had more arguments in him but relented at the sight of Hector so panicked. "All right," he mumbled as the ship ran aground.

Hector spared him a small grateful smile and a quick kiss on the brow. "Thank you," he murmured, promising himself that he would somehow see to Paris' training once they got through this day. He poised himself to storm the beach as he raised his voice: "Men! Now is the hour! Foes are upon us, so come forward and fight!"

The elder prince led the charge with his sword drawn and his Trojans following close behind. The Ithacans that they were traveling with lagged only slightly behind as Odysseus' second-in-command waited for his king to emerge from the Myrmidon vessel that hit the land moments after theirs did. Odysseus soon overtook them, seizing the direct leadership of his men once again and falling into step next to Hector. The Myrmidons joined the scattered, mixed ranks; and the three armies formed into one as Achilles took his place alongside the two other leaders.

Despite the impending danger Odysseus managed to grin at the prince as they ran. "It's good to see that you can act like you're alive, given the proper motivation," he remarked conversationally. "And where might your wayward son be?"

"Sill aboard the ship, of course," answered Hector grimly. "I told him to get below and stay out of sight – he hasn't been trained as a warrior yet."

Achilles laughed with much amusement. "He's not going to do that! Knowing Paris, he was extremely unhappy about being left behind – he won't make it worse by hiding," he commented with the weight of experience in his tone. "But at least he's out of danger. Never tell him, but I'm relieved that he's not going to be a part of this, even though –"

Whatever he was going to say was cut off by a startled cry coming from one of the Trojan soldiers. They'd almost crashed head-first into the opposing army, but the sooner-than-expected arrival of the threat wasn't the reason for the outburst. The army that had rushed to meet them, that had been attempting to breach the walls of the city and were being pursued even as they gawked, was made up entirely of Trojans – some Hector recognized as a part of his father's personal troops, some older palace guards, most past the traditional age of Trojan warriors but still armed with their weapons and skills from their years of service. Even Lord Isidore was there, standing a little ways behind the biggest shock of all: Priam, at the head.

An icy exterior formed over the furious fire that threatened to consume Hector upon seeing his and his son's chief tormentors. He held his fist up, signaling for his men to hold, grateful when Odysseus and Achilles followed with similar gestures without a question or request for clarification. The other two leaders hung back, though, when Hector stepped forward, for these were the Trojan prince's demons to confront.

"Father," he greeted frostily.

"Hector," returned Priam, his voice full with as much venom as the most poisonous snake. "Just when I thought that I could not be any more disgraced by you, you have the insolence to not only to come back, but also to bring with you the filth that the sea was supposed to carry off. Have you found your place among the uneducated barbarians and uncouth savages?"

"These men have more honor in one toe than you have in your whole twisted soul," Hector told him evenly. "At least they don't try to attack their own city."

"You are one to talk," retorted Priam. "Or were you expecting a warm welcome for everyone present after you committed treason?"

"I can honestly say that I expected nothing less than your utter hate," replied Hector. "But I wasn't going to besiege the whole city just to talk to you. What happened, Father? Did the people actually heed my call and rise up against you?"

"Do not act so ignorant," hissed Lord Isidore, bold at his safe distance from Hector's sword. "It is obvious that you engineered this whole coup, and not only by spurring them on with your traitorous words. Imagine all of our surprise when a spineless piece of flesh like you showed so much ambition."

Hector spared him no glance; without Priam on the throne, Isidore had no power. He chose to keep his unwavering stare on his father's face. "I wish that I could take the credit for that," he declared, "but alas, I had nothing to do with it. Oh well; that doesn't matter, for you were dethroned all the same. Whom do I now call my king?"

At this Priam laughed bitterly. "It appears that we gave you too much credit – you really _are_ that stupid and oblivious," he said. "They rose up in your name, you ignorant boy; they hold the city against its rightful king because of an imposter. King Hector," he mocked, sounding as if he'd never heard anything more absurd.

"I think it has a nice ring to it," interjected Odysseus.

"You would," snapped Priam bitingly. "But you are a boorish savage and I know the truth. You're nothing but a weak boy, Hector, who allowed himself to be seduced by an opportunistic servant whore and then grew up to be a worthless man obsessed with his bastard child. Where is that little whore-spawn, Hector? Did he reject you? Did he take one look at what you truly are and recoil in disgust? The thing never did have a strong constitution"

"He put up with you for all of these years," Achilles spoke up nastily. "I think that speaks wonders about what Paris can handle."

Priam, so focused on Hector that he didn't take the time to note all of the people who came with him, nearly gagged at the sight of Achilles. "How dare you bring _this_ back to my land!" he demanded fiercely, "and probably that ruined whore of a son as well!"

"Paris Alexandros," said Hector through gritted teeth, "is anything but ruined. Without you and that perverted excuse for a man that is Lord Isidore in his life he has blossomed quite nicely."

"And they think that you could be a king," scoffed Priam. "You will never amount to anything without my guidance and now I would rather spill your blood myself than watch you take my throne."

The scene turned chaotic in an instant. The Trojans who had accompanied Hector had already effectively rejected Priam as their king. As long as Priam sat on the throne of Troy they had been men without countries, loyal only to Hector and the loved ones that were forced to hide in the mountains. An army controlling the city in Hector's name meant that they had a home again, and they couldn't think of a better king than the commander that they'd been willing to give up so much for. Not many causes would justify spilling the blood of their brethren-in-arms, but the promise of having a trustworthy ruler of royal blood was enough for them.

As Trojan fought Trojan, the Ithacans and Myrmidons threw themselves into battle. That day they weren't just fighting because Odysseus and Achilles had different reasons for being loyal to Hector; they were battling for the future of their lands. Priam, whom they'd made their enemy, as king of the most powerful city in the Aegean meant years of war and turmoil. To have Hector as the king meant that the alliances that they'd come to Troy for in the first place would probably be formed and all would not be in vain.

_OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO_

All that depended on the outcome of the battle was not lost on Patroclus. He forged ahead in earnest, slaying one enemy after another and focusing ever onward to the next. It was almost too easy, he decided; and that in part made him uneasy, though it filled him with a reckless courage that seemed natural for anyone related to Achilles. They were fighting a force made up mostly of old men, for the gods' sake! While he understood that didn't mean anything in itself – many a soldier could make up for being past his prime by using his intelligence – it still felt odd. If they weren't so highly detestable he might have actually felt a little bad about the fact that he could – and would – kill as many of them as time allowed.

Well, he would almost feel that way about most of them – but definitely _not_ the one that was currently standing before him with his sword poised. The leering look on his face reminded Patroclus of the way that so many people used to look at Paris, and he wondered how his friend endured what was making him nauseous for so long. "Look what I found," the Trojan sneered. "A little Myrmidon."

"Aren't you observant," said Patroclus flatly, all the while gleefully thinking about all the way he was going to wipe that smirk off of his repulsive face. He moved his hand so that the light would reflect off of his sword even more keenly. "Now see if you can tell me what _this_ is."

"Tart tongue, willful attitude, stamina to boot, and it looks like all of that dirt is hiding something not bad to look at," the man remarked lewdly. "I had a horse like that once, but I found that he was easy to tame if I just touched him in the right way. What about you, little barbarian? Are you going to break just as quickly when I mount you?"

Patroclus didn't have time to respond before someone came up from behind him and launched himself at the Trojan while bellowing an outraged roar. "Eudores!" Patroclus yelled at the interloper, pulling him off of the now-dead man. Eudores, rapt in his furor, didn't come easily and Patroclus' effort made them both stumble back onto the sand. "What do you think you're doing? I had him!"

"He said – he said that he was going to –"

"Mount me?" Patroclus laughed sarcastically. "And you, thinking that I was just going to stand there and simper, figured that you'd swoop in and save poor, helpless me? Have you no faith in my abilities? Why do you even care anyway?"

"I care," responded Eudores faintly as Patroclus' face began to swim out of focus. "I love you…"

Eudores' voice trailed off as he blacked out, slumping against his young lover. "Eudores!" cried Patroclus. He shifted the slack body around to support him and his face blanched as his hand found the problem.

"No," he breathed. The Trojan had gotten in a lucky thrust, or else the dead man's sword had accidentally shifted during the struggle – it didn't matter how it happened. What matter was that Eudores' side was bleeding and that blood now covered Patroclus' hand. "No!" Patroclus shrieked, catching the attention of another Myrmidon nearby. "Get a healer!" he ordered, not caring anymore about the battle. "Get a healer, get a healer! In the name of the gods, if you know what's good for you, _you'll get a healer_!"

Patroclus cradled Eudores in his arms as the other man ran off, rocking as the sound of his lover's ragged breathing let him know that he was still alive. "You stupid idiot," sobbed Patroclus. "You stupid idiot…"

_OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO_

Achilles wasn't aware of Eudores' dire situation; he was too busing on the other end of the battle, searching for one man through all of the bloodshed: Lord Isidore. There were no words to describe how much he despised that man! When they had been two days out from Troy Paris had finally confided the last little bit of Priam's plans, namely how Isidore was to viciously rape him in front of the now dethroned king. He hadn't told him before, it seemed, because he feared that Achilles would snap and do something rash that would have made their escape impossible.

Paris' caution had been valid then, when the warrior had planned to have Troy be nothing more than an unpleasant memory, but now their fates were tied to the battle and Achilles had been unleashed. He had the opportunity now to let the lecherous lord know just what he thought about both the abuse of his lover and the way that he 'trained' the prostitutes. Achilles clenched his fist around the hilt of his sword. Yes, he was going to kill him, but not before he cut his balls off and shoved them down his throat.

His search, however, proved fruitless. Achilles' blood ran cold at the realization: Lord Isidore wasn't there anymore. Paris was alone and unguarded at the boats and Isidore hand managed to slip off during the confusion of the battle.

To be continued…

_A/N: Ijust want to take the time to thank everyone who's reviewed. It means a lot to me!_


	15. The rabbit gets the gun

_A/N The title of this chapter is taken from a song that my niece loves (in part because she's still a little to young to understand that it's about a battered wife - even if the victim did get justice in the end) called "The Rabbit" by Jimmy Wayne. I won't write down the whole thing, but here's the chorus:_

What goes around comes around  
There's no doubt  
We'll have to answer for the things we've done  
When the tables turn and they will turn  
Mark my words  
It ain't gonna be fun when the rabbit gets the gun

_I thought that it was appropriate!_

'_What's happening?' _wondered Paris as he stood on his tiptoes and strained his eyes in the direction of the battle. It was still to beyond his sight for any of his efforts to make much of a difference. All he could make out were vague shapes and shadows blurring together as the soldiers clashed. This was so frustrating! Many of those shapes and shadows were the people that he cared about – including the two that he loved more than anything else in the world. They were fighting and possibly – _'Apollo, don't let it be so!'_ – dying and he was expected to hang back and wait on the beach.

Well, _technically_ he was supposed to be below deck on the Ithacan ship, cowering in his cabin among his piles of soiled clothing and his perfectly good sword; but he'd been on land since before the last of the ranks of soldiers was completely out of sight, much too sullen to feel guilty about not entirely complying with Hector's orders. He understood that Hector hadn't told him to hide to be condescending or to mock Paris' capabilities – he did it because he was his father and wanted to protect him. However, the boy wanted – _needed _– to find out how the battle was turning and that wouldn't happen as long as he remained on board.

What good would come from hiding anyway? Paris clenched his jaw and let his fingers slide down the sheath that held the sword at his side. If the combined forces of Hector, Achilles, and Odysseus succeeded he would be left with the shame of knowing that he had hidden while they'd bought their safety with their own blood. How would he be able to live among the Myrmidons again if that were the case? Paris winced as he remembered the sorry state he'd been in when Achilles and his men had first seen him; he'd worked so hard to get beyond that, to grow stronger each day, and taking refuge away from the fighting would probably undo all of that in their eyes. And if the opposing army proved victorious the ship would be no haven. They would surely storm the two vessels, rifling through everything and stealing anything of value. Paris would be a sitting duck in that situation; at least on the beach he wouldn't have to fight in a confined space and had a better chance at finding the opportunity to get away if need should force him to run.

So focused was he on what was happening far down the beach, what he was told to do and why he wasn't doing it, and what might happen when the battle was over that his mind was paying no attention to the here and now. Normally that probably wouldn't have been too much of a problem; after all, the distance between him and the battle was enough to conceal him from anyone there that would want to do him harm. However, it placed him in danger if there was even one person who cared more about finding him than fighting for their lords…who wouldn't care about being branded as a coward for slipping away from the battle…who had lived the last six years of his life dreaming about the moment that he would have the young prince alone and at his mercy…

Paris didn't hear the deliberate, anticipating footfalls, nor the approaching man's excited breathing – he wasn't even aware of the presence of another person until a hated voice sounded, slicing through his anxious thoughts.

"Well, well, well," the voice cooed mockingly.

The boy froze for a moment before slowly turning to face Lord Isidore, who was standing just a few feet away. A ghastly, evil smile split the lecherous lord's face as he reveled in his discovery. He had abandoned the battle to search out the little whore and there he was, oblivious and out in the open. A bit of good fortune at last! It was almost worth it to be driven out of the city by a traitorous horde to find the object of his lustful obsession caught unawares and unguarded. He stared into Paris' large brown eyes and got even more aroused by the surprise and fear that he perceived to be there.

"Looking who came slinking back," Isidore continued, lewdly appraising the boy and running his tongue over his lower lip. Paris grimaced in disgust at the gesture. "That brute and those savage Myrmidons did not hurt you all that badly as far as I can see. That pleasure, then, is still mine."

"No, it's not," Paris told him, revulsion lacing with triumph in his voice. "I am no longer –"

Isidore's cruel laughter robbed Paris of the chance to proclaim that one small victory. "I know that you have been touched," he sneered. "I would wager that you have been touched so many times and by so many people that you have lost count of both. That does not matter, whore; I was merely commenting on how you at least can still stand and that is more than what you will be able to do when I am finished with you. It is true that I spent far too long coveting the squandered prize that was your virginity, but now that it is gone I find that I am glad about it. Now I no longer have to stand on ceremony with you; no waiting for your eighteenth birthday or permission from the king – I have wanted to do this for years."

"Yes," Paris rolled his eyes to disguise his apprehension. "I'm sure you've fantasized about forcing that shriveled piece of flesh into me since I was twelve – you and countless other men. Are you incapable of having an original twisted desire?"

"But I am, Paris, I am." A gleam flashed in Isidore's eyes as an often-reviewed memory came to the surface. "Lusting after that body _was_ my original idea. I was not one of those fools who could not see what you were until you were twelve. I knew two years prior when I mistakenly walked into the baths while you were attempting to wash away all of your filth."

Paris suddenly felt like retching. "I don't believe you."

"There are many shadowy corners in there, as you must be aware of," taunted Isidore, taking a step closer. He felt a thrill run through him as Paris automatically took a step away. "I could go in there and no one was the wiser – not you, not the king, and certainly not that dolt Hector. You have not been in there without having my eyes on you, soaking in your flesh and planning what I was going to do at this very moment, for six years now. All of that anticipation was difficult to endure but now the payoff will be all the more delicious."

"You revolting pervert," hissed Paris, feeling defensive and achingly vulnerable. Was it true? How often had the lord really violated him in that way? "Not only are you so sick that you feel proud about doing that to a child; but you also possess so little honor that you're going to betray the man that you claim to be your king by raping me now. I'm sure that Priam hasn't given you permission to do anything to me yet."

"Are you now, you disrespectful traitor?" Isidore smirked. "I think that you should know, then, that he ordered me to do just that even before you ran away with the Myrmidons. Why would he have changed his mind? You are worthless now, Paris; King Priam can no longer offer your purity – or the appearance of it, since that purity was supposed to be mine – to the man who would pay most richly for it. He will not care what I do to you."

"It doesn't matter if he does or not," retorted Paris defiantly. "Achilles will care and so will _my_ father."

"Even if that were true about your animalistic lover, or if Hector could actually stomach doing anything more than talking and simpering, it does not matter," stressed the lord. He took another step forward and almost climaxed when the young prince's hands flew nervously to his sides. "That battle is going very well for the true and loyal citizens of Troy. The king and his men are slaughtering all of the traitors and foreigners as we speak. It is a wonder, in fact, that the sand is not red all the way down here by now. I daresay that we will be victorious soon."

Lies fell so easily off of his forked tongue that it was amazing that anyone still listened to him at all. Paris certainly didn't, at least not on this point. It was difficult to believe that the man whom he used to call his father would be able to muster a force that could stand against the Myrmidons, let alone all of the others. He heard the words, all right, but he refused to give them any weight; nor did he dignify them with a response. The boy's hand discreetly closed around the hilt of his sword but he hesitated to draw it, contemplating if he truly had the heart to end another man's life in such a manner, even a man as twisted as the one standing before him.

The lord mistook his silence for fright. "Do not worry," he purred. "Even if you were not my chosen prize you would still be to enticing for any soldier to slay so carelessly, though I am afraid that they might be rough and damage you. I believe that we can come to an agreement, Paris. You be a good boy and kneel before me with that pretty mouth of yours open and ready now, and afterwards beg me to take you, and I will see to it that the beatings stay to a minimum. In fact, I will even give you a little reward: since you obviously enjoy spreading your legs for common warriors I will let you provide the entertainment for the loyal troops at their victory celebration. Would you like that, you brazen slut? To be taken over and over again whilst among the bodies of the fallen?"

This was too much for Paris to bear. With all internal debates quieted, he quickly drew his sword from his side. "You are a liar," he growled, his eyes burning with hatred. "Your troops will never triumph over the Myrmidons, Ithacans, _and _most of Troy's best warriors; and you won't live to touch me."

If anything, Lord Isidore looked amused by this declaration. "You have told me something like that before. What makes it any more true now; the fact that you somehow got your hands on a sword?" he asked as he drew his own weapon forward. "I have one too, and in that respect we are even. At least I am meant to hold a sword of metal, while you are meant to handle one made of flesh. What about skill? I may be old, wanton, but I was trained by only the finest Trojan soldiers. Who exactly taught you to fight?"

Paris smirked. "The greatest warrior in the world."

_OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO_

As his young lover traded barbs with the man who'd plagued his nightmares for year, Achilles frantically fought his way through the throng to get down to the ships. It proved to be a slower process than he currently possessed the patience for; all of the opposing soldiers knew by sight who he was and seemed determined to be the one who avenged the supposed insult he'd inflicted on Priam by freeing Paris of his abusive influence. _'Please,'_ he mentally scoffed at it all. Compared to all of the things that Achilles maliciously daydreamed about doing to that horrible idiot, the circumstance of his flight from Troy was _nothing_. As far as he was concerned, Priam was lucky that he was preoccupied with more important matters.

The Myrmidon warrior let out an annoyed grunt as yet another soldier bearing a righteously indignant expression effectively blocked his path. "I serve King Priam of Troy," announced the man importantly, as if Achilles couldn't have deduced that on his own. "And I –"

Achilles moved in a flash, cutting off the man's words permanently with a thrust of his sword. No loss; he'd heard what he was going to say more than enough for one day – for one lifetime, now that he thought about it. He had the speech memorized. If he really wanted to hear it again he was in luck: there seemed to be no shortage of men eager to say them to him.

Two such men, showing marginally more intelligence than most of their comrades, appeared on either side of Achilles as he was withdrawing his weapon from the throat of the fresh corpse. "Now!" one shouted to the other, certain that they had him this time. They both leapt at the warrior, attacking in tandem while they believed that he was caught off his guard. "In the name of –"

Another thrust, another unfinished sentence. Achilles was just grateful that only one of them felt the urge to blather on like that; it made choosing which one he should kill first all the more easy. He turned with lightening speed to take care of the other and ended up staring blankly at the surprise that awaited him.

The second attacker was falling to the ground, dead at the hands of…Lucius. The foolhardy Trojan soldier who had fallen victim to Isidore's manipulations and as a result had challenged Achilles to a duel while operating under the grossly incorrect assumption that the Myrmidon had threatened to rape Paris was now spitting on the body of the former colleague that he'd just slain to help Achilles. The last time that the Myrmidon had seen him he was sprawled out on the ground of the dueling arena, rendered unconscious by a strategic blow. Lucius hadn't been among those who had accompanied Hector on the journey and Achilles, had he cared enough to think about him, would have assumed that he gone with the refugees into the mountains. What was he doing there at exactly the right moment?

"You weren't with Hector," he blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

"I was commanding the troops who pursued these monsters from the gates of Troy," replied Lucius uncomfortably, unsure about what he was supposed to say to the man who, on the one hand, apparently loved Paris and didn't deserve to be challenged in the way that he'd done it; but, on the other hand, had showed so little regard for those left behind in Troy who would be worried about the younger prince after he disappeared. "In the name of King Hector –"

"I don't have time for this!" interrupted Achilles, stressed and impatient. Whether they fought for Priam or Hector, it seemed that all of the Trojan soldiers were reciting the same words. "Lord Isidore was here and now he's vanished; and Paris is all alone at the ships."

Lucius' face hardened at the implication. "Go," he urged, raising his sword again. "I'll make sure that the way is clear for you and keep others from following – you just concentrate on saving the prince."

_OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO_

Never in his life did Hector imagine that he'd be clashing swords with his father on a field of battle and yet there they were, locked in a fight that neither of them would back away from. "Hector: _former_ prince, stripped of his title for betraying his father and his people," tormented Priam. "And for what? Why are you and all of the ignorant fools who love you paupers and exiles now? All because you disobeyed my will once to dally with a lowly servant and couldn't let go of what resulted from it, even after I did everything I could to clean up your mess."

"Do you think that I care at all about my title or Troy's riches?" Hector shot back as he expertly blocked his father's blow. He could have easily cut down the old man right there; yet his sense of fair play and that last lingering bit of familial obligation that was difficult to shed after all of these years stilled his hand from doing so. Besides, Hector honored the gods – not in the way that Priam did, using them as a cloak and an excuse for his actions and inactions; but as a man who was grateful for all the blessings that they'd bestowed upon him – and he did not want to break their law about spilling the blood of a family member unless he had no other choice. "I would gladly give up being called a prince along with every single coin in the city's treasury; be a penniless nomad for the rest of my day, if that was the only way that I could hear Paris call me 'Father,' even just once. He does, you know, and more than once; he let me hold him as I explained why I'd given him up and at the end of it called me 'Father' for the first of many times. He hasn't used that term to describe you since I told him the truth. I guess you didn't have quite the hold over his mind that you struggled so hard to achieve. My son is free of you, Father."

"And that is all that you think about; your illegitimate child," sneered Priam. "I can see that Astyanax has no place in your heart and mind. I must congratulate you, Hector; you were not strong enough to ignore my will and take your firstborn out of the city to starve to death on some rock, but you've all but done so with your second. That must be the first time that you have succeeded at anything in your private life."

"There is no limit to how much I can love," Hector retorted haughtily. "I love both of my sons, Andromache, the people who fight with me today, and the people of Troy. Don't start making assumptions about a man's capacity to love – you need to have that capacity yourself before you can begin to understand it."

Priam spat, hitting the sand next to his son's feet. "You ungrateful lowly rat," he snarled. "You claim to love the people of Troy, and yet how many of them have already wasted away in the supposed refuge that you stowed them away in? How many of the soldiers that loved you most have shed blood – their own and that of other Trojans – in your name on this day? At least no one has ever so needlessly laid down their lives under _my_ rule."

"Not their lives; just their spirits and their souls," commented Hector, but Priam had succeeded in striking a nerve. Was his need to punish his father more important than the lives of the brave men who stood loyally beside him? He lowered his blade slowly. "I will give you and your men this one chance: surrender to me and I will let you all leave these shores alive and un-pursued. Think of your men, Father."

The former king's shoulders sagged for a second and Hector actually thought he'd gotten through to him. Then with no warning Priam surged to life again, bellowing wordlessly and almost succeeding in striking the unguarded prince in the chest. "Compassion and mercy were always your downfall," Priam seethed. "You care too much about wanting people to see you as fair and kindhearted and all they really think is that you are weak and eager to please. If you let us go today we'd just come back after figuring out a way to burn the city to the ground; for I rather it be a pile of rubble than in your charge."

"I'm sure you thought the same way about Paris."

"That?" mused Priam uncaringly. "Must we always come back to that thing? Really, you should be thanking me, Hector, for taking Paris from you all those years ago. If you would have raised him he would be even weaker than you is now. Under my care he became at least strong enough to live through whatever sexual games the Myrmidons liked playing with him."

"The Myrmidons respect Paris in a way that you could never fathom," Hector bit out. "And Paris' strength has nothing to do with you; it comes from the fact that Achilles loves him, and that I love him too. Did you know that I used to sneak into his bedchamber at night? Sometimes we would talk and play; other times I would just watch him as he slept, but the fact is that I went there for years without your knowledge, Father. You tried so hard to keep us apart and still I was never that far away from him."

"Is that so?" hissed Priam, murder in his tone. An evil glint came to his eyes. "Well then, I will be curious to see how long all of this strength that you provided will help him last when Lord Isidore finally gets his hands on him. I have no need for Paris now; not as a bargaining chip or as a way of keeping you in line. I fully intent of giving Isidore the order to rape him until he is dead and I will watch to make sure that it is done properly."

Something inside of Hector snapped. Priam had finally pushed him to the point of no return. _"You will never see my son again!"_ he roared, tackling the other man and sending him down hard on his back. Hector kneeled on top of his with his sword against his chest. "I won't let you!"

"Do it," taunted Priam, moving his eyes to look disdainfully at his son's sword and not believing for a moment that Hector could go through with it. It was a pathetic gesture, one that Priam would relish tormenting him about at length before he killed him.

Hector shook his head, slackening his grip on the weapon but not moving it. "No," he declared and no one could deny the strength in his voice. "That would be too easy and too quick – an unsuitable punishment for all of what you've done to Paris and me. We were in prisons of your making for over sixteen years; now you're going to spend at least that long in one of our choosing."

It was over; Priam had finally lost the last little bit of control he had over his son and he knew it. "You have no authority to dictate my life," he said as one last insane plan formed in his mind. "I will be burned into your memory for the rest of your life."

He grabbed the sword that was held against his chest, cutting his hands badly as he impaled himself on it. Hector let out a gasp of surprise and horror as their eyes locked. Priam was indeed willing his son to remember every last detail of this moment, to sear this on his memory and haunt him forever…

"_Paris!"_

Hector started at Achilles' scream. Suddenly all of his father's will over him evaporated. "Alexandros," he breathed, his mind solely on his son as he sped off down the beach, sparing no more thoughts on Priam. All he cared about now was seeing to it that nothing had happened to his son.

He gaped with a mixture of shock, horror, and wonder at the sight that greeted him when he came upon Paris and the Myrmidon by the ships. Lord Isidore, the snake himself, was crumpled to the ground, bleeding too much to be alive. Achilles was holding Paris' head, pressing it against his cheek and jaw as he murmured soft words of comfort. For his part Paris heeded neither words nor man; he continued to stare as if dazed at the dead body while clutching a bloody sword in his hand so tightly that his knuckles were white.

"Paris," said Hector gently as he approached cautiously so as not to startle his son.

Paris didn't move. Hector guessed that he didn't even realize that his father was there. "Paris Alexandros," Hector said with a little more firmness in his voice. The boy looked up slowly and saw the loving expression on his father's face. "Let it go, my son."

The younger prince let the sword slip from his grasp; Achilles caught it and dropped it gingerly to the ground. "It'll be fine, my love," the warrior promised. "We'll clean it and it'll be as good as new. You used it well today."

"I had to," said Paris numbly. "I had to kill him."

Hector slid an arm around him, embracing Paris while Achilles maintained how own hold. "I know," he comforted. "I know what kind of men he was and you are; there is no doubt in my mind that you had to choice but to kill him." He frowned a little. "Where did you learn to fight?"

"Achilles taught me."

Hector raised his eyebrows at Achilles. "We were together and out of Troy for weeks," the Myrmidon reminded him. "What did you think we did all day?"

Despite everything, Achilles had to guffaw at Hector's responding blush. "All day _and_ all night? Even I don't have that kind of stamina."

To be continued…


	16. Reunions in the aftermath

"Why does this keep happening?" asked Odysseus in a long-suffering tone as he surveyed the aftermath of the battle on the beach.

Actually, considering what had just taken place there everything was in remarkable order. He was pleased to note that the time he'd always taken to go over with his men what should happen after a battle was not something exclusive to the Ithacans; their Trojan and Myrmidon counterparts appeared to be well-trained and knew their tasks well. Some men were working together diligently to seek out and gather those of their comrades who were wounded while others took meticulous stock of the enemies that had been killed, wounded, captured, and any important ones that had escaped. Odysseus could appreciate this level of efficiency – since the men required very little direction he only had to be present in case an extraordinary circumstance arose. That left him with a lot of time to muse over the current state of his life.

He let out a dramatic sigh. "Perhaps the better question is," said Ithaca's king, "is why does this keep happening to _me_?"

Pausing for a moment to catch his breath after helping the men under his command get yet another wounded soldier off to the healers, Lucius overheard the question. He looked over his shoulder, searching awkwardly for the person that the Grecian king was addressing; but no one was standing closer to him than Lucius himself. "Are – are you speaking to me?" he asked uncertainly.

"Are you listening to me?" returned Odysseus, falling into the good-natured banter pattern that came so easily when danger wasn't imminent.

"I suppose I could, if you want me to…"

"Good; then I _am_ talking to you," the Greek nodded resolutely. He frowned and wrinkled his nose, looking perplexed. "Though now I'm not quite sure what I should say. Forgive me, good soldier of Troy; I'm just all flustered. I can't remember the last time that someone actually listened to me when I spoke."

Considering the loyalty demonstrated by his men Lucius thought that was a bit of an exaggeration. Nonetheless, though he had the courage to stand up to someone of greater power when he felt it justified he wasn't yet bold enough to correct an authority figure when the misconception was harmless. He elected to take another route instead. "I listened," he reassured Odysseus, feeling more than a little unbalanced. What a strange conversation this was! He supposed that it was a Grecian mannerism to carry on in such an odd and breezy way. Most likely no one would fault him for ending it quickly and moving on but Lucius had the distinct impression that his people would have more contact with the Ithacans and Myrmidons in the future; it was best to start getting used to interacting with wordy foreigners now.

Odysseus tried hard not so show his amusement at the soldier's earnestness. "Did you now?"

"Yes, on the day that King Hector revealed to us the truth about his father and about Prince Paris; and then you told me about Lord Isidore and how Lord Achilles really loved the prince," Lucius elaborated. "I heard everything that you said clearly. That's why I stand with the victorious today."

A huge grin broke out over Odysseus' face, making Lucius a little nervous. "Now that's refreshing," the king declared grandly. "Not only did someone actually heed the wisdom and insight of my words, but he also used them to alter his course and make the right decision. I'm flabbergasted – and flattered. If more people were like you, son, then I wouldn't be in the type of situation that I'm in now nearly as often."

Was he actually lamenting being on the winning side of the battle? From what Lucius had heard and observed about the Ithacan king he would have thought that Odysseus would possess a deeper understanding of how well Hector's victory would affect him. "And what situation do you find so terrible?"

"The one where I'm left behind to deal with and sort out other people's messes, of course," Odysseus told him as if it were obvious while trying to not make it sound like he was insulting the young man – or worse, the young man's king – in the process. Maybe Trojans didn't possess a sense of humor. "I came to Troy with the intention of seeking peace and an alliance that would be mutually beneficial to both kingdoms. Then my dear friend Achilles falls in love with your youngest prince – excuse me; I guess he's your _oldest_ prince now – and runs away with him, leaving me behind to face the aftermath."

"But that led to good things, right?" Lucius pointed out hesitantly. "I mean, you weren't imprisoned or executed; and you got the chance to speak with King Hector."

"A part of listening is not interrupting, son," admonished Odysseus breezily. "But you're forgiven because you're right. I did speak with Hector and ended up rousing a hornet's nest by inadvertently uncovering some shocking family secrets. The ensuing eruption had me leading refugees to the mountains before running back and forth across the Aegean – do you realize that, if my luck holds out, this will be the first time in several weeks that I'll spend more than one night on dry land? Anyway, during that time I helped sort out jumbled familial relationship and romantic entanglements because that's the kind of man that I am."

"It was very noble of you, sire."

"And what was my reward for it?" demanded Odysseus rhetorically. "My men and I have just participated in a battle that really had very little to do with us on the surface; and now that it's all over and the time has come to clean up and restore order, where are my fellow leaders? Nowhere that I can see. I tell you, Lucius – it is Lucius, correct? – I tell you, the gods must have been laughing their heads off at me from the moment I decided to pursue an alliance with Troy."

The soldier clamped his hands stiffly as his eyes darted from the king to the ground and back again. He was under the impression that Odysseus wasn't being entirely serious about his complaints, but then again he was never very good at determining that sort of thing. How was he supposed to tell if he wanted a sincere reply or not? He cleared his throat to stall for another couple of seconds. "Well, um, well –"

"Pay him no mind," interrupted Achilles as he, Paris, and Hector came upon the unlikely duo. Paris stumbled a little as weight of the reality of facing the people he'd hurt when he left sunk in. Achilles tightened his grip around his lover's waist discreetly while sending a dismissive snort in his friend's direction. "He hasn't quite grasped yet that no one bothers listening to him because he's an insufferable dramatist."

"Look who's talking," scoffed Odysseus, thankful to have a proper verbal sparring partner again. "Have you threatened to remove some part of someone's body and do ghastly things to them with it today yet?"

Lucius was no longer listening to either of them; his senses had been overwhelmed with relief from the moment he'd laid eyes on Paris. He'd been told that the young prince hadn't been in danger with the Myrmidons and had even believed it when he was told that Achilles was in love with him, but until he saw him flanked by his father and lover he didn't really accept the fact that Paris was truly intact. "Prince Paris," he said joyfully, carefully appraising him. The boy looked shaken and disturbingly pale, not to mention wearing a garment that was odd and wasn't worthy to be worn on someone so beautiful, but other than that he appeared to be just fine. "It warms my heart to see that you are well. The gods have finally smiled down on you, thank Apollo! There are so many people who feared that the worst had happened, especially in light of what we found in your bedchamber…"

"I know," replied Paris guiltily, not wanting to even think about what had taken place in his bedchamber after he and Achilles had made love that night. "I'm so sorry for that. I didn't realize that – I thought, well, I thought that Father was the only one who would worry if I disappeared. Believe me, I didn't mean to cause so much turmoil."

"_Father_, huh?" Lucius smiled knowingly at Hector, who returned it while pressing his cheek against the top of his son's head. "I appreciate your remorse, but don't dwell on it for long," the soldier said to Paris. "There is not a soul who cares about you that doesn't understand why you did what you did. We owe you an apology too, for not doing our duty and protecting you from _all_ who sought to harm you."

"Thank you," said Paris sincerely. "But don't judge yourself too harshly; everyone was fooled by Priam's act."

"Not everyone," Achilles felt the need to point out. He knew that there was no need to be jealous; it was nice that Trojans like Lucius were happy to see Paris and cared about him so much. Still, there was no harm in pulling his lover just a little bit closer.

"Yes, well," Lucius threw him a rebuked look and silently nodded to acknowledge Achilles' place in Paris' life before turning back to the boy. "Are you certain that you're feeling all right? I mean, I know that Lord Isidore disappeared during the battle and is unaccounted for as of yet –"

"We can take care of that right now," broke in Hector as he unconsciously ran a hand down the side of his son's head. "Isidore – don't refer to him as a lord anymore; he doesn't deserve the title – is down the beach by the boats, dead and ruining the sand with bloodstains. Good riddance to him; there was not one redeeming quality about that man."

This news was both a joy and a disappointment to Lucius. He was happy to hear that the perverted old lord had finally gotten what was coming to him. Finally, Troy was safe for good from his manipulations and schemes! Still, he and several of the other soldiers and guards had been looking forward to having Isidore under their 'care' in the nastiest of all of Troy's dungeons. It was a pity – a few of the more impetuous ones had taken to making the cell of choice even more disgusting than it already was, reasoning that it should reflect the nature of the man it was supposed to be holding; they were going to be most disappointed. Oh, well; what mattered most now was finding out if the former lord had hurt Paris or not. "Did he…"

Paris understood the implication and shook his head. "Wonderful," breathed Lucius in relief. "I didn't do wrong, then, by trusting your love to save you. I must apologize to you, Lord Achilles; I was a fool to believe anything that came out of L-Isidore's mouth. You are truly a blessing from the gods in the way that you continue to protect the prince – if you hadn't gotten there in time –"

"Hold on!" cried Achilles, holding up his hand. "I've got enough to be praised about without taking the credit for what others have done. In truth, I probably would have gotten there in time but Paris beat me to it."

"You?" gaped the Trojan soldier at his prince. Paris swallowed hard at the memory but obligingly unsheathed his bloody sword to serve as proof for Lucius. "That's – that's – who taught you how to fight?"

The boy's eyes flew to his lover's face. "I did," Achilles boasted proudly. "And who better than me?"

When Lucius shook his head in amazement and looked to Hector to see what reaction his king would deem appropriate, Achilles' expression softened and he leaned closer to Paris' ear. "Put that away, my love," he whispered soothingly. "You don't need to look on it again until I clean it."

"I'm sorry about –"

"Don't be," Achilles cut in before Paris could finish. "Don't feel so down, Paris; you did what you had to do and it's not a weakness not to revel in taking another man's life. I think you take after your father in that respect."

Hector didn't hear what Achilles was saying but he smiled as he felt the tension drain from Paris' body. "I do hate to interrupt this atmosphere of understanding and marveling," he announced, "but we've still go the not-so-small matter of seeing to the troops. Tell me, how did our men fare?"

"Better than the other army's men did," answered Odysseus dryly to disguise the pain he felt at losing any of their men.

"I sent out a couple of soldiers to do a quick tally and send off those who need it to the healers," added Lucius. He faltered a bit when he realized something. "They – they will probably only survey the Trojans. Not that we don't care about your men as well, my lords; it's just that there are so many and a lot of details to process…"

"No need to worry," Odysseus told him flippantly. "I've also got men who will see the needs of the Ithacans."

"And even the Myrmidons think it valuable to see who's dead, who's alive, and who'll need a healer before that can be determined after we fight," Achilles jumped in, using a tone that could or could not be interpreted as sarcastic (which, of course, it was). "In fact, one of my men should have gathered all of that information by now. Odysseus, could you tell me if you have the vaguest notion of where Eudores is? They would have reported it to him since I wasn't around and I can only hope that he wasn't too busy mooning over a certain someone to absorb it."

"No one's going to be reporting anything to Eudores," said Odysseus, sounding taken-aback. He wouldn't think that the man would be so blasé about Eudores' condition; then again, he had been down by the ship for awhile and might have been still ignorant to it. "Didn't you hear what happened?"

Achilles' blood froze. He'd lost men before, but Eudores – for all of his faults, not the least of which was his taste in men who were, well, Achilles' cousin– was one of his closest friends. He shut his eyes to hide the emotion there. "Is he dead?"

"Not that I've heard," replied Odysseus. Both Achilles and Paris exhaled with sweet relief. "But he was injured fairly early on in the battle; and not insignificantly either, according to what people are saying. He's lucky, though; Patroclus was near at hand when it happened and he made sure that Eudores got to the healers right away."

"Poor Eudores, and poor Patroclus too," commented Paris as he remembered that day on the ship when Patroclus told him that sometimes he thought that he could love the older man.

"Don't count either of them out yet," advised Achilles knowingly. He looked at Odysseus and the Ithacan could see that he was having trouble heeding his own advice. "Point me in the direction of the healers' tents, my friend," the warrior requested grimly.

_OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO_

Achilles jogged through the maze of people and bodies, down to where the Myrmidon tents had been set up, with Paris following closely at his heels. The boy had been momentarily torn between what his official duties to the Trojan people as one of their princes might be and his need to be there for two people whom he'd come to regard as great friends. The latter had quickly won out, for there was really nothing that he had to do for his people that Hector was incapable of doing himself. His father had even observed the conflict within him and had urged him to go. Paris' dueling obligations would have to be sorted out later, after this personal crisis had passed.

The couple paused after they entered the circle in the middle of the clusters of tents. Odysseus had been able to tell then that Eudores had been taken to the Myrmidon encampment but hadn't been able to offer any specific details as to his exact location. There were several tents and people swarming around most of them – none offered any indication that this was the tent that the second-of-command was bleeding in. Most people would have viewed searching through all of them as a daunting and frustrating task, but fortunately Achilles knew ways around doing that.

"I want answers and I want them now!" he yelled out authoritatively, unashamed of his brashness. After all, he was those men's lord and he could act in whatever manner he deemed fit as long as what he was doing wasn't putting them in any danger. Anyway, they should've been used to it by now.

Jason, one of the bolder and less wounded men, rose from his makeshift seat near one of the tents and walked the short distance over to Achilles. "And I'll give them to you if I have them, my lord," he replied. "Although I'm afraid that I don't know any exact figures concerning the battle. The men in charge of that haven't had anyone to give the information too; we didn't know where you went to and Eudores and Patroclus are indisposed at the moment."

"I heard about what happened to Eudores," said Achilles, his heart sinking, "but not about Patroclus. Was he injured too?"

"Not yet," responded Jason flatly. "But I haven't checked on him and the healers for a few minutes though, so I can't swear to it."

"Then he's with Eudores, I presume" reasoned Achilles. "Then you _can_ answer my questions: how does Eudores fare and what in the name of Tartarus happened?"

"He still lives; the healers won't say anything for certain yet but they seem to think that he has a good chance at making a full recovery. As for how he ended up with a sword wound in his side," Jason paused to roll his eyes, "he did it to himself."

"He took a blade to himself?" gasped Paris. In all of his miserable years under Priam's rule he'd never hit that low point where suicide turned from a disturbing fantasy of escape to a viable option for reality. He couldn't imagine what would have driven his lover's second-in-command to do such a desperate thing. "That doesn't sound like Eudores."

Jason waved his hands as if to brush away the suggestion. "No, I didn't mean it like that," he explained. "What I meant was that he did something astonishingly foolish. What I heard, and Patroclus confirmed it, was that some disgusting Trojan – no offense to you, Paris – said some crude things to Patroclus and Eudores got so worked up about it that he threw himself at the man without thinking and effectively impaled himself on his opponent's sword. It wasn't intentional, but this whole mess was completely preventable; and if Eudores hadn't acted like such an idiot –"

"Jason?"

The man turned around to see who was talking to him and was rewarded with a swift, powerful punch to his face. "Ungh!" he grunted in surprise and pain, his hands flying up to cradle his broken nose.

"How dare you?" seethed Patroclus. Achilles suppressed a smile at seeing his cousin well and still fiery while Paris grew even more concerned with his friend's distraught demeanor. "Eudores – who outranks you in every possible way, and I should know – is fighting for his life after caring more about mine and you're calling him an idiot? Well, now you two have one more thing in common: you've both sustained injuries that could have been avoided if you'd have exercised more common sense. He still has more bravery and decency than you could ever hope to have, though; and if you _ever_ insult him again I'll skip your nose and get right around to breaking your jaw! Now get out of here!"

Achilles chuckled as Jason headed off in a hurry, probably smart enough to know better than to seek care from a nearby healer with Patroclus in such an unstable mood. "Nice to see that you haven't lost your edge, cousin," he noted.

"This isn't funny," Paris scolded Achilles before turning his attentions to the younger man. "Patroclus, how are you doing? We heard that you've seen Eudores."

"Oh, I've seen him all right," replied Patroclus darkly as he fought back tears. "I saw him jump from out of nowhere to attack some man who threatened to 'mount' me and then I saw him collapse in my arms while his blood covered my hands."

"Were you with him just now?" asked Achilles gently. Patroclus' behavior was really dampening his jocularity. He was surprised at the strong reaction his cousin had to Eudores' injuries; one, he was never one to over-exaggerate; two, he'd been quite angry with Eudores during the entire trip to Troy; and three, Achilles had never known Patroclus to take any man that he'd formed that kind of relationship with so seriously.

"I was, but those moronic healers ordered me to leave! I told them that I didn't take orders from them and they told me that they couldn't take care of Eudores properly until I was gone; so I left." Patroclus bowed his head as a few tears slipped out and when he spoke again he sounded worn down and wretched. "'I love you.' That was the last thing he said to me before he lost consciousness. Stupid idiot…"

"I thought you didn't want people to insult Eudores like that," Achilles reminded him as Paris clutched Patroclus' arm to console him.

To his astonishment, the look that his cousin gave him was full of sadness and regret rather than annoyance and sarcasm. Achilles didn't have time to dwell on it or ask what it meant, though, for Hector and Odysseus chose that moment to join them. "Greetings once again," said Odysseus. "How's Eudores doing?"

"He'll probably live," answered Patroclus, wiping his eyes furiously.

Odysseus smiled fondly at the clever and sometimes deceptive young man who'd apparently found one of his own weaknesses. "Don't hide your tears," he counseled quietly so that only Patroclus could hear him. "There's no shame in feeling something for someone who's so obviously in love with you."

"I'm sorry that we must intrude now," said Hector as he studied Paris' anxious face, Achilles' bewildered expression, and Patroclus' sheer misery, "but everything down here is pretty much under control down here. Seeing as I'm now apparently the king, I'm going to have to make an appearance in the city soon. Odysseus is coming too; it would probably be best if you two, Paris and Achilles, came with us."

"Politics as usual," sighed Patroclus wearily. "Go on then, Achilles; and you too, Paris – show those Trojans what things are really like between you two and make the Myrmidons proud."

"Maybe you should come with us," suggested Paris, not wanting to leave his friend alone at a time like this.

"I'm not leaving Eudores," stressed Patroclus a little defensively; Paris understood and backed off. "I'll be fine; but you four need to go to make sure that what happened today wasn't in vain."

With one last round of comforting words and reassuring squeezes, Hector, Paris, Achilles, and Odysseus walked off in three separate directions. Once they'd gathered as many troops as possible they would march to the gates, ready to re-enter the city they'd fled in triumph.

To be continued…


	17. Homecoming

In a strangely surreal way the procession through the streets of Troy was very similar to those that Hector had to endure during his days as the city's prince. At the end of every successful campaign or political visit his father made sure to get the word out that he was coming home so that throngs of people would flock to the streets to greet him with shouts and cheers when all he wanted was peace and quiet. None of those people, he'd felt, understood what being away from the city cost him emotionally; and the seemingly empty pomp and circumstance that ended with a showy but fake loving reunion with the man that had done everything in his power to make Hector's life miserable had often proved to be more draining than what he'd just come back from.

It had been horrible to him that seeing practically everyone else in the city was deemed more important than reuniting with the people he'd missed the most. The parades through the city were always endless; the tedium only somewhat alleviated when he thought to wave or when someone gave him flowers or trinkets. Then after awkwardly embracing his father so that all could see, he would be forced to recount everything he'd just went through to the court before enduring perfectly horrible celebrations where it was inappropriate for the only three people that he wanted to see – Andromache, Astyanax, and Paris – to attend. It would be late in the evening when he could finally spend time with the first two and possibly days before he could see Paris again. Hector had known that he would miss some parts of his life when he forsook his princely title, but this whole experience was definitely not one of them. It was strange then that there he was again, marching down the streets and listening to people's cheers, this time as Troy's king.

What also made the situation so strange was that Hector found that he was actually enjoying it for probably the first time in his life. Before he'd been certain that the people had gathered purely because of Priam's self-serving manipulations; now he could believe that they actually cared about seeing him alive and well again. That was something that Hector still had a hard time accepting – that people might love him – for Priam's lessons were thorough and taught well but he would learn because in the end the people of Troy had chosen their love for him over their loyalty to his father. It was nice not to feel so alone in that crowd. Of course, this time he truly wasn't alone in the procession – he was flanked on one side by his new and loyal friend Odysseus and on the other by his beloved son Paris.

Ah; there was something else different about this procession and it was being fueled by the younger Trojan, or more accurately by the Myrmidon who walked by his side with a possessive arm around his shoulders. No one in Troy ever expected to see Achilles again unless it was in battle or else his corpse being dragged back to the city to hang from its gates. Having the man whom they'd believed, with only a few rumors to the contrary, had kidnapped the prince stride back into the city with a place of honor in the king's procession was mind-boggling. That he was allowed to touch Paris in such a familiar way was deliciously scandalous and causing more than a few whispers. To their credit though, the people seemed to be willing to accept this odd pairing just as long as their new king did and from what Hector could tell no one seemed to be expressing any disapproval toward Paris.

Having Lucius present, walking just a few feet behind the four, probably helped the people accept the validity of a relationship between Achilles and Paris even more. Hector smiled to himself as he glanced over his shoulder at the trustworthy soldier – Lucius, the gods bless him, even tolerating the warrior touching the boy after he'd proven that he'd fight anyone who might mistreat him set an admirable example for the others to follow. That fact combined with all of the loyalty that he'd demonstrated in his absence proved to Hector that he'd done the right thing in trusting him.

"Lucius," Hector called to him. "Come and walk beside us. You have more than earned that place of honor."

"I thank you for that, sire," replied Lucius in his typically solemn way, "but I'm afraid that I must decline your gracious invitation. It is an honor to serve my king, an honor that many soldiers received today. I do not wish for any special privileges when I did nothing more than my duty."

"Nothing more?" Hector cocked an eyebrow at him and Lucius feared for a moment that his king had acquired that oddly breezy manner of speaking that Odysseus had so aptly demonstrated earlier. The soldier of Troy was not a man who dealt with changes easily, not even when they were changes for the better, and he didn't know just how much more he would be able to handle without going mad.

Thankfully for him Hector would have to be exposed to the Greeks for far longer for his personality to change that much. "When I returned to this land I expected to be greeted with hostility and be ruled by my fear and survival instincts," the king went on. "Yet thanks to you I have a home again. I would say that rallying the troops that went into exile and driving the former king from the city in my name is going well beyond what simple duty requires of you."

"But none of that was my doing," protested Lucius. Hector opened his mouth to respond and he rushed on to elaborate: "I did lead the troops, of course, but I was acting under someone else's direction."

That was news not only to Hector but to Paris, Odysseus, and Achilles as well. "Interesting," commented Achilles. Now that he thought about it, it _was_ rather difficult to imagine that uptight Trojan soldier thinking up anything as bold as a coup in the name of someone who might not have lived to return. Finding out that another person was guiding him the whole way down the path of rebellion wasn't entirely shocking. "And just who might this have been? I haven't met many Trojans that would fit in with the Myrmidons but this sounds like a man that I could get along with easily."

"I would most certainly not agree," Lucius told him stiffly. "For it was the Queen Andromache and not a man at all. I do not believe that you two would have anything in common and it would be most inappropriate for her to mingle so carelessly with your men anyway."

"Wait one moment," interjected Hector before Achilles could respond. "_Andromache_ was responsible for raising the troops and the invasion of the city? My wife Andromache?"

"I don't believe that there is another Andromache, your majesty," was Lucius' prompt reply. "Her knowledge of the palace interior was most valuable when it came time to flush Priam's supporters out of hiding once and for all."

"But there are many hidden rooms and tunnels that are only known to the royal family – you couldn't have memorized all of them in the time you had before the attack," reasoned Hector. His eyes grew wide when a thought came to him. "She didn't _accompany_ you on this campaign, did she?"

"Not into battle, my king," assured Lucius quickly. "She was well protected once the fighting began, but we needed the information that she had and she was not willing to risk it being forgotten or compromised."

Achilles laughed when Hector's mouth dropped open. "I was wrong," he told Paris, sounding amazed. Paris was amazed himself at the ease in which his lover made that admission. "There's a first time for everything, I suppose. I thought you took after your father there, but apparently you got a lot of your stepmother in you too."

"The baby," blurted out Hector, paying no mind to the Myrmidon. "Where was Astyanax during all of this? Surely he didn't come too."

"He remained on Mount Ida with the rest of the refugees," Lucius assured him calmly. "Prince Astyanax was under the care of an extremely competent nurse while the queen was away. It broke her heart to leave him behind even temporarily, but Queen Andromache understood that it would be more beneficial to him for her to go away for a little while and secure his future than to stay. She is a most hearty and determined woman, if you don't mind me making the observation, who does not quake at facing a challenge."

"So – she's here?" asked Hector, picking out one of the numerous questions drifting around in his mind. He'd been assuming that he wouldn't be able to reunite with the family that he'd left behind for at least two more days; now it appeared that the joyous event would be taking place sooner than he'd ever dared to hope.

"Yes," responded Lucius, who understood why that particular inquiry meant so much to Hector. "She and Prince Astyanax both; she sent for him and the other refugees as soon as the city was secured."

"Wow," said Achilles and he really meant it. "I'm actually impressed. That doesn't happen very often."

Paris shook his head and blinked as if trying to make sense of all that he'd just heard. "That's quite remarkable," he said to Lucius. "Andromache's been in the palace for several years and yet I never knew that she was capable of doing such brave tasks."

"Fools, the both of you," Odysseus playfully scolded them. He chuckled with understanding and let out a wistful sigh. "Although I suppose I can't fault either of you for it this time. It's not your faults that neither of you have had the experience that Hector and I have with formidable wives. Now that is the kind of woman who can endure almost any hardships in order to preserve everything that she loves."

"Feeling a little homesick?" wondered Hector with a smile.

"Yes," confessed Odysseus longingly, his eyes on something before them in the distance rather than on the person he was speaking to. "I miss Penelope both more and less when I'm in the presence of your wife. I do hope that they get the chance to meet sometime; there's no doubt in my mind that they'd become great friends. But first things first…"

Hector followed his friend's eye and his heart leapt when he saw that the stairs to the palace were looming; not so much at the sight of that familiar marble but because of the figure standing at the top of them. Yes, these processions were easier to enjoy when the people waiting for you at the end of them were the ones you loved the most. "Come with me, Paris," he urged his son giddily, taking him by the hand. Andromache smiled down at them while she cradled Astyanax in her arms. "She's going to be so pleased to see us both."

But Paris hesitated, suddenly nervous at the prospect of speaking to her again. "You – you should go without me," he stuttered in reply. "You three need your time together and all…"

"Paris," frowned Hector, "what's wrong?"

"She – might not be happy to see me," explained Paris awkwardly. His father looked startled. "Not that I would blame her for it; the three of you are family and I'm not, not really. I mean, I'm _your_ family, but she doesn't have a reason to want to welcome me."

"Nonsense," Hector told him warmly. "We're going to go up there and she's going to be overjoyed because the two people that she's been worrying about the most have finally come home. There are no barriers to whom a person can love as long as that person is willing to do so. Odysseus, Achilles," he added, nodding at his other companions, "would you wait for a few minutes before you follow? This day belongs to all of us, but I think that the _four_" – he looked meaningfully at Paris –" of us will need some time."

With each step upward Paris' apprehension grew and it became harder for him to keep moving. What was he supposed to say to Andromache? She'd never really been a part of his life before – Priam had successfully isolated Paris from all things having to do with Hector, be it his duty as a soldier or the other members of his family. In their few chance encounters she'd been nice to him; but that was before, when he'd been her husband's brother. How would she feel around him now that she knew that he was in fact her husband's son?

That was what was making him so nervous, even more so than he'd been when he was waiting for Achilles to arrive the first night that they'd made love or at the beginning of the voyage back to Troy when he hadn't known what to say to Hector. At least in those instances the other person had made it abundantly clear that they'd wanted Paris to be around. There was no reason for Andromache to feel that way; he was Hector's child with another woman, for Apollo's sake! He was the living, breathing proof that she hadn't been the one to give birth to her husband's firstborn son – she had more cause to see him as an interloper, a threat to her family rather than a member of it.

Hector finished his ascent a few steps before his son did. While Paris stepped off to the side to put a respectable distance between himself and the greeters, he rushed to time and had his arms around her almost instantly. "My dear, sweet, beloved wife," he breathed, kissing her soundly. "There are no words to describe how much I love you. How I've missed you – both of you," he added, taking Astyanax from her and pressing a kiss into the baby's cheek.

"Greetings my son," he cooed when the child looked at him quizzically. "I'm your father, though I don't blame you for not recognizing me. But I won't have to go away again anytime soon."

"I'm so glad that the gods guided you home safely," said Andromache. Her eyes shone with tears as she watched her husband and son interact. "And that you did not make that journey alone! Welcome back to Troy, Paris Alexandros."

Paris bowed his head uncertainly in response to her warm smile. "I thank you, Queen Andromache," he said formally. "Your graciousness and hospitality –"

His voice cut off suddenly in shock when she shook her head exasperatedly, walked forward, grasped either side of his still-inclined head, and kissed his brow. "Now what's all this?" she asked.

"I apologize if I've offended you," said Paris quickly. "I just didn't want to seem too forward."

"You worry about being too forward around political dignitaries and the families of the people you are to marry – we're _family_," she stressed. "Is that so hard to accept?"

"I – I – I – don't know how to act around you," he confessed in an ashamed tone. He should have known that he was going to mess something like this up!

Andromache did her best to hide her sadness. She knew that it would take time to repair all of the damage that Priam inflicted on both Hector and Paris. Still, there was no time like the present to start. "I know that you had a mother who loved you," she told him, "and I would not presume to try to take her place. Yet you are my husband's son and I would be very happy if you considered me to be your mother too. That's how I'd like you to act around me." Her eyes sparkled a little when he looked up to meet her gaze. "Unless you think that's too forward of me."

"No," answered Paris truthfully as his voice shook. His bit his lips and closed his eyes but could not disguise the loud sniffle he let loose. "It's just the right amount of forward."

She laughed and pulled him into a maternal embrace, feeling her heart warm when he returned it. "You've been spending too much time around Greeks," she observed. "I'm glad you came back."

"I'll have you know that all of you are causing quite a stir," announced Odysseus with an exaggerated scold as he and Achilles joined them on the landing. "Apparently they didn't know that the royal family was capable of showing genuine affection for each other in public. I'm not as surprised at this as I am that they assumed that you showed such affection in private – I'd seen wooden animals show more emotion than this family used to."

"You really didn't come home alone, did you?" Andromache asked her husband.

"Greetings, most gracious Queen Andromache," said Odysseus, bowing. "I hope that you don't find the company that your husband brings displeasing."

"I greet you, King Odysseus, and am indeed delighted to welcome you back to Troy," she answered him before turning to Achilles. "As for you…"

The warrior cocked an eyebrow at her. "Yes?" he pressed. Paris knew that tone: she was lucky that Achilles admired her for her role in expelling Priam from the city because usually he didn't tolerate _anyone_ talking to him in such a harsh tone. The prince moved into his lover's arms to soothe him and was relieved when he felt the Myrmidon relax a little.

"I'm not happy about the way you left Troy before," she admonished. "It was rather presumptuous of you to assume that you were the only one who cares about Paris at all."

"Feelings are just feelings unless you act on them," replied Achilles, "and you can't argue that I wasn't the only one who actually did anything to prove that I cared about him."

"Achilles," hissed Paris when he saw her eyes narrow a bit.

There was no need to worry, however; her face softened. "Well, you seem to make Paris happy," Andromache conceded. "I can forgive you as long as you do that. Just _don't_ make him unhappy."

"Protective, I can see. I respect that."

Odysseus shook his head at their exchange. "I like understanding and communication as much as the next put-upon ruler," he stated, looking to Hector for confirmation that he did indeed like those things too. "However heartwarming this may be, though, it doesn't do much to help the people down there. There are a lot of Trojans waiting for their king to address them."

"Then I'd best see to them," sighed Hector. "But don't rush off once this is over with. I would like to speak with you and Achilles about the possibility of Troy making alliances with Ithaca and Pthia."

Odysseus wrinkled his brow as if in deep deliberations with himself. "You know, I might want one of those…"

_OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO_

Eudores spent a good amount of time that he would never be able to measure drifting between varying levels of darkness. At some of the more conscious points he could feel a terrible pain in his side and he would drive himself down deeper to rid himself of it; at other times he felt himself slipping _too_ much away from all feeling and he would force himself to go back. The pain was one thing – one temporarily thing, he hoped – but those other feelings felt deeper and more permanent. At times there would be an occasional word spoken in a familiar voice, a sob – did that voice even know how to cry? – or a touch; sometimes it was just a presence, but all of those never failed to grab hold of Eudores' heart and refuse to let go. Those moments of lucidness were only seconds long at first, but gradually they got longer and longer still.

When his awareness of a hand holding his didn't end Eudores knew that his time of hiding in the darkness was over with. The pain was still there but he could also feel that touch, that presence, and he knew that he could put up with a little pain if it meant being with this person again. "Patroclus?" he murmured hoarsely.

Patroclus started at the sound of his lover's voice. "Eudores?" he cried softly. "Eudores, open your eyes. _Please_ open them for me."

Eudores was finding that there was very little that he wouldn't do for him. He complied, forcing his lids open and blinking rapidly as his eyes adjusted to the light again. As they recovered Patroclus' face came into focus. He'd never seen the younger man in such a state before: Patroclus' eyes were bloodshot with dark bags beneath then; his cheeks were blotchy and streaked where tears had fallen; and a general exhaustion was weighing down his normally confident demeanor.

"Are – are you all right?" asked Eudores. It frightened him to see Patroclus in such a muddled state – maybe he'd failed and something had happened to him after all…

"I'm fine," Patroclus assured him with a nod.

The older man was still fighting his way through the haze that was clouding his mind. "That Trojan didn't hurt you?"

"No, Eudores, he didn't; you killed him before he could do anything but talk." Patroclus' other hand stroked his lover's hair. "You wanted to protect me and you succeeded."

"Then why haven't you been sleeping?" questioned Eudores. His concern only grew when a few tears actually slipped out of the younger man's eyes. He reached up, wiping them away and was disquieted when he felt Patroclus actually trembling. "And why do you cry?"

"Because I'm a stupid idiot, that's why," said Patroclus, his voice cracking under the strain of it all. By the gods, he truly _was_ a cold asshole if Eudores didn't understand why. "I know you didn't mean anything cruel that day on the beach when the Ithacan ship came – I knew it back then too. Still, I've been acting like an obnoxious brat, telling myself that you saw me as nothing but a whore."

Eudores struggled to sit up at hearing this. "I didn't mean –"

"I know you didn't," interrupted Patroclus. "But I wanted to believe that you did because if that was truly the case then I wouldn't have to confront what had really been troubling me about our relationship. Not only am I a stupid idiot but I'm a coward as well. Here you are, brave enough to fight for my virtue when many would attest that I don't have any left to defend and telling me how you feel when I didn't have the courage to deal with the fact that I feel the same way about you. I love you, Eudores; though I don't deserve to."

"Don't say that," said Eudores in a surprisingly strong tone, having been properly roused. "I love you and I won't just lie here and tolerate hearing you call yourself a stupid idiot or saying that you don't deserve to love me, or impugning your own virtue. Those who say that you don't have any left to defend are hypocrites of the worst kind; they were the one's who slept with you and they have no right to judge you for it."

"I didn't mean anything by it," Patroclus told him, worried that he'd gotten Eudores worked up too much at a time when he needed to rest. "I'm sorry for babbling on like that; I'm just over-tired. Even Jason –"

"Is that who's been saying those things about you?" Eudores' ire was raised even more. "He never deserved to even look at you, much less touch you and now he's making comments about your virtue? I'll kill him! Where's my sword?"

"Calm down!" Patroclus grabbed his shoulders and pushed him gently back down on his back. "The healers will try to keep me out if you get too upset."

He wasn't at all ready to just lie back and put up with this! "I won't!" he vowed fiercely. "I won't let them treat you so badly. I love you!"

"I love you too," returned Patroclus quickly, lying down carefully on Eudores to restrain him. He kissed himtenderly on the lips. "I love you too."

It was the kiss that broke through Eudores' furious resolve – Patroclus had _never_ kissed him or anyone else like that as far as he could tell. "You really mean that?" he asked. "You really do love me?"

"Yes." Patroclus smiled down at him and paused. "Now what?"

The older man grinned at him. "Well, normally I'd take this moment to seize you in my arms, roll over so that you'd be beneath me, and make love to you until both of our souls were laid bare for the other to see," he declared. Patroclus sucked in some air and let out a shuddering gasp. "But until I regain some of my strength I'm afraid that we'll have to settle on kissing – if you feel like giving me one."

No one he'd been involved with before had ever bothered to ask him for a kiss when they were alone like that. "I can do that," Patroclus told him, leaning down and giving Eudores a kiss that was more intense and intimate than anything he'd ever done in bed with anyone. "I can do that."

To be concluded…


	18. New beginnings

"In front of the court of Troy on this day of victory and celebration," announced Hector formally, extending his hand to the man standing next to him, "do you, King Odysseus of Ithaca, find the preliminary terms of our alliance satisfactory?"

"So far," answered Odysseus with a wry smile. He reached out, grasping Hector's wrist, and they shook in agreement for all the noblemen there to witness. It was only a few hours after their triumphant march into the city – certainly not enough time to negotiate an alliance of this magnitude. Usually Odysseus would have been leery of a ruler's insistence that some sort of agreement between them be decided immediately, since there were many men in the world and not all of them could be trusted. However, he did trust Hector and he understood the urgency: realms that had just experienced civil war and turmoil were notoriously unstable. It was very important that the new king establish that he was a good and honorable man who would uphold the law and without an alliance in place the law did not extend to the Ithacan and Myrmidon troops; if a citizen of Troy were to do anything to the foreign visitors and if Hector punished him as if the crime had been committed against another Trojan, he would come across as a tyrant who favored his foreign supporters over his people.

Thankfully now the Ithacans, and soon the Myrmidons, would have some sort of protection against any lunatic in the city who was reluctant to let go of old grudges. "As do I," declared Hector grandly, "and I declare Ithaca to be our friend and ally during times of peace and war. You and your men may go about the realm of Troy and enjoy the privileges and protections that accompany such a title."

Now that the danger was over and the long-sought after (and almost lost) alliance all but secured Odysseus found that he was having a difficult time not laughing at the stuffiness of the whole occasion. It was an almost unheard-of situation for the normally dignified and controlled king and something that he might have, in the past, attributed to spending too much time with Achilles. He understood, though, what was causing it at that moment on that day: after all they'd been through together – seeing Hector at his very worst, playing host to the former fugitive prince – hearing him speak so formally now was just like seeing Achilles do something like take great pains to greet him in a manner appropriate for a foreign dignitary. All of it felt so hilariously ridiculous!

This was actually a quite comforting realization. Somewhere during their grand, foolish adventure Hector had ceased to be another ruler that Odysseus needed to figure out for the sake of his people and had become a friend. It was a nice feeling; an added bonus to finally attaining peace with Troy. Now he didn't feel the need to tread diplomatically around the Trojan king. Most relationships, he found, worked much better when their participants favored honesty over trying not to offend each other.

Still, there were times and places to exercise their new friendship and in front of the court while they agreed on political negotiations was not one of them. "I look forward to maintaining a mutually beneficial relationship between our two lands," said Odysseus with an appropriate mixture of respect and charm. "May the futures of Troy and Ithaca be all the more prosperous because of it."

"I have no doubt in my mind that they will be," replied Hector with a smile that was almost out-of-place in its informality.

Releasing Odysseus from his grip Hector turned his gaze toward Achilles, who was standing a few steps behind the Ithacan king. Odysseus stepped aside so that Achilles could take his place and Hector felt a surge of trepidation course through him. Paris' lover looked amused by the court proceedings – an attitude that the noblemen would certainly _not_ appreciate – and not particularly thrilled to be there. The latter at least Hector could understand; being there meant that the Myrmidon wasn't with Paris. The two had been separated a long time when they journeyed back to Troy on separate ships and had looked forward to their reunion once they reached land. The battle and ensuing politics, however, had further delayed that from happening.

It didn't help that being back in the city was bringing up many bad memories of the last time that they were there. Achilles had made it abundantly clear that he very much disliked being apart from Paris for any amount of time in the exact place that had caused the boy so much grief for years. Paris, however, had decided that his presence would only be a distraction and opted not to attend in favor of sending messages to those still on the beach before spending some time with Andromache and Astyanax. The Myrmidon was growing more and more anxious and Hector could only hope that they would get through all of the necessary formalities as quickly as possible.

"Lord Achilles of the Myrmidons," he addressed him. "We have discussed our respective stipulations for creating a treaty between our two realms."

Achilles crossed his arms. "I remember," he said a little rudely.

"Do you accept them?" pressed Hector as the noblemen glowered and Odysseus twitched. "Are they satisfactory enough to forge an alliance between Troy and Pthia?"

"No."

Of course this wouldn't be simple. _Nothing_ could be simple when Achilles was involved. "No?" Hector repeated, resisting the urge to smack his forehead in exasperation. Did the warrior care that he could be jeopardizing the welfare of his men and the future relations with his lover's homeland? "You have decided not to seek this alliance then?"

"I didn't say that," replied Achilles with maddening casualness. "I just make it a point not to agree to anything until at least the most important details are discussed and decided upon. There have been too many times when a ruler used an advantage he held to make others sign away the most precious things in their lives. I do not wish to become one of those fools, being rushed too quickly into a seemingly desirable agreement with someone that I don't have enough reason to trust."

Hector was impressed with how close Achilles had come to calling him a liar without actually saying the words. "And what do you want me to promise you right now?" he asked, torn between grudging respect and a little annoyance. After all, Achilles had spent very little time with him and didn't really have a reason to believe that Hector would actually follow through on the unofficial and understood agreements after a formal alliance was declared. Still, Hector was doing this to protect Achilles and his men; he found that he didn't appreciate the warrior's rather open distrust.

"Must you first be promised the use of Trojan troops for Myrmidon warfare?" he pressed on. "Do you desire gold, jewels, and fine cloth from the palace treasury? Will you only be satisfied with open access to the city's weaponry?"

"Nothing like that," said Achilles dismissively, not noticing or else just refusing to acknowledge the indignant gasps from the nobles when they heard Hector's questions and wondered if they were offers. "All I want from you is your word and for you to keep it when the time comes: you must promise me that you will not interfere with my relationship with Paris, nor allow anyone else to do the same. He will be with me when I leave these shores and I don't feel like dealing with whatever pests that may follow for the rest of my life. One adventure is tolerable, but it gets tiresome."

It was a final test and Hector knew it. "I will agr –"

"My king," interrupted one of the noblemen before Hector could finish. "I must advise against making such promises at this moment. While I grant that Lord Achilles has proven his loyalty and worth today, this concession is too much. Prince Paris is your firstborn son and heir; it is therefore imperative that he wed a female and sire children."

"The prince is not necessarily King Hector's heir," disagreed another member of the court. "He is the firstborn – no one disputes that – but he is also an illegitimate son, the result of an affair with a servant. He _cannot _be the next king of Troy, but as rumors of his beauty have spread all over the Aegean the prince should be used to strengthen new alliances. It would be advisable to allow Lord Achilles to take Prince Paris as part of the treaty."

Achilles' nostrils flared angrily and a distressed Odysseus cradled his forehead in his hand. "Paris is _not_ something that can be given away like that, you scum," he growled. "By the gods, I thought that the refugee army expelled of all of the people like you!"

"That attitude might have been tolerated – even encouraged – by my father," agreed Hector with a subdued but powerful furor, "but it has no place in my court."

"Sire?" spoke up Linus, father of Lucius. "The most important things to consider now are your feelings and those of Prince Paris. Have the two of you discussed the possibility of you naming him your heir?"

"I haven't even thought about it," confessed Hector wearily. Until that morning his future appeared to be that of a penniless beggar who would be forced to wander in search of a realm that would dare to withstand the might of Troy for so little in return – who his heir was going to be felt like a moot point. "I must speak to both Paris and Andromache before I can make any final decision on the matter. In the meantime I will promise you, Lord Achilles, that I will allow my son to make up his own mind about continuing his relationship with you. If he wishes to remain with you, as I expect he will, I will not try to stop him – though not even the gods will be able to save you should you harm him in any way."

"Now that is something I can agree to," said Achilles with a smile that was surprisingly free of sarcasm.

Hector let out a wistful sigh as the two men grasped each other's wrists. "I do hate to lose him again," he explained when Achilles cocked an eyebrow at him. "I just got Paris back and soon he'll be leaving with you again."

"Who says you're going to lose him?" demanded Achilles wryly. "The sea is my home and Paris is my home. I'm content to be anywhere as long as I can be with both of them and am not attached to any one piece of land that I would object to leaving it for long periods of time when necessity didn't require it. Pthia would be our main residence for the sake of my men, of course, but I don't see why I would have a problem with staying in Troy whenever Paris wants to."

The nobles murmured amongst themselves. "Are you saying, Lord Achilles," questioned one of them carefully, "that when the time comes you will give up command of the Myrmidons for the prince? That is a noble gesture but if you do so then any alliance agreement made today would be worthless…"

"I didn't say that I wouldn't be leading the Myrmidons," Achilles told him in his blasé manner. "When we're in Troy they'll just make camp on the beach, like they're doing right now."

Every person in that room looked horrified except for Hector and Odysseus, how were fighting to repress their smiles. "Oh for the gods' sakes, what?" snapped Achilles. "All that means is that there will be long stretches of time when the finest warriors in Greece will be stationed between the sea and your city. I can't see how that would be a threat to Troy's security as long as the terms of the alliance are maintained accordingly." He rolled his eyes in the direction of the nobles one last time and looked to Hector. "What about you, oh king of Troy? Are you starting to regret agreeing to this?"

"Most certainly not," answered Hector, who understood the Myrmidon better and better with each passing second. "Welcome to the family, Achilles."

_OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO_

Achilles slipped out of the court hall some time later, once the discussion had turned away from pleasant things – like Paris going away with him to things that he had no interest in – like the funeral rites for Priam and Isidore. Theirs were the only two bodies that had gone unclaimed after the battle; Isidore having no family and no friends left to speak of and Priam being a delicate matter best left to the new king. Now everyone was fretting about what should happen to them. As far as Achilles was concerned they deserved to have their rotten corpses torn apart by wild birds and animals, thus making it impossible for Hades to deliver his final judgment on them. Being doomed to an eternity of tormented wandering without even knowing their true identities sounded like a fitting punishment to him. However, no one seemed to be interested in making that happen and Achilles didn't care as much about correcting that as he did about finding Paris.

He was so preoccupied with how wonderful but odd it was to be able to go almost anywhere in the palace, including the royal quarters, without restriction that he didn't see a young man coming from the other direction until they'd collided. "Pardon me," apologized the young man even though it was him who'd fallen while the Myrmidon had managed to stay on his feet. "I was not watching where I was going, my lord…Lord Achilles?"

"I –" Achilles halted his prideful boast when he looked at that flustered face and recognized its owner, right down to his hooked nose. "I know you; you're called Hook, right?"

"I'm flattered that you remember me," said Hook honestly as he took Achilles' offered hand. The warrior pulled him to his feet. "I guess by the way you're heading straight for the prince's chambers that things have worked out in your favor?"

"You guess right," Achilles told him, "though I'm surprised that you had to guess at all. I thought that everyone heard about what happened this morning."

"The servants here have only heard of the final defeat of King Priam and his army; the rest has been just rumors and hopes." Hook glanced nervously around before leaning in to whisper: "Is it true that Lord Isidore is dead?"

"Yes; I saw his bloodied corpse with my own eyes," assured Achilles. An overwhelming sense of relief took over Hook's entire body. "And your new king saw fit to strip him of his title posthumously. I even spat on his body for good measure," he added with a vengeful twinkle in his eye.

The young man smiled shakily and closed his eyes. "Good," he declared with a nod. "He was an awful, awful man…"

"He doesn't even deserve to be called a man after all he's done," said Achilles darkly. "Odysseus told him what he did to you; and the risk that you took to assist Paris and myself the night we escaped from the palace. I find myself in the awkward position of owing you, and believe me I don't say that lightly. How can I ever thank you?"

"Don't bother," replied Hook. "I did what I did to get revenge on that man just as much as I did to help the two of you. That night with – with those horrible guards and the whipping by Lo- by Isidore was just the price I had to pay for it."

Achilles didn't want to know what Hook had endured at the ends of those perverted guards that would make him compare sex with them to being on the receiving end of a vengeful Isidore's – a man who was infamous for his enthusiasmfor inflicting pain – whipping. "But still you did help us and there must be something – "

A light went on in Hook's eyes. "There is," he said suddenly. "You can come with me now and tell the other prostitutes about Isidore's death. I don't think that they'll believe it until they hear it from someone who actually saw him afterwards."

"All right." Achilles fell in step beside the young man and they walked for a full minute before something occurred to him. "_Other_ prostitutes? You're still a member of the palace harem?" Hector must have known about what Hook had done to help his son; he would have thought that the king would have at least freed him from that servitude because of it.

"Yes – no – I don't know," Hook sighed awkwardly. "No one's told me otherwise, but then again so much has been going on that no one's had the time to do _anything_ with the harem since we took refuge in the mountains. King Hector never seemed to approve of the whole concept, but I doubt he'll be able to do away with it altogether without some ruckus being raised."

"I think everyone here in this city will be surprised what Hector is capable of doing in the face vehement objections," Achilles told him. "But even if the harem remained I'm sure that no one would say a negative word if he released you from it."

"But then what would I do? The stigma of having been a palace prostitute would follow me whether I was reassigned to another duty within the palace or sent to do whatever in the world outside of it. Besides, I take care of the others – they need me." Hook stopped walking for a second and gave Achilles a brave, hopeful smile when the lord did the same. "No matter what happens, I think King Hector will make people treat us better. Why, we've even started calling ourselves by our real names again."

Achilles recalled how one battered prostitute who'd collapsed at his feet had called himself Green and declared that his real name had ceased to be important. To hear that all of them were reclaiming their identities felt like a step in the right direction. "And what is yours?"

"It's…well, it's Ganymede, my lord."

After the boy who had been raped and carried off by Zeus himself – how wretchedly fitting, considering how the young man's life had unfolded so far. "That's a nice name," lied Achilles, finding the need to be polite more important than the truth for one of the first times in his life.

"No it's not," responded the former Hook wistfully. "But it's my name."

_OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO_

Hector had made up his mind to speak with Paris immediately after the court gathering no matter what he was interrupting between his son and Achilles. The question of who was going to be his heir was hanging over all of them; it could have a profound affect on Paris' future and he deserved the chance to consider all of the options carefully with as little input from the Myrmidon as possible. Whatever doubts that Hector had that the boy would even _want_ to be named his heir at all, he couldn't make the final decision without consulting him.

He was surprised to come across Paris alone in the royal quarters, sitting outside the closed door to his bedchamber. "Paris," Hector called to him, returning the boy's smile when he looked up. "What are you doing out here? Is Achilles making you wait while he prepares something?"

"I haven't seen Achilles since he went to court with you," replied Paris. Hector could tell by his tone that something was bothering him. "I'm not waiting for anything; I just can't…"

"Can't what?" Hector frowned worriedly at him and glanced over at the door. "Can't go in? Paris, did someone threaten to do something to you if you went into your bedchamber?"

"No! I'm just…well, afraid isn't the right word," Paris attempted to explain. "It's more like – I have a lot of good memories of this chamber. It's where you used to spend time with me, where Achilles and I first" – he coughed and blushed –"were first _together_, and the only place where I felt safe to be myself for most of my life. But those guards – the ones that Achilles had to kill the night we left – they, I don't know, they tainted it somehow. It's like they brought all of the horrible things that I had to deal with in the real world into my one refuge. It's hard to go back in after all of that."

Hector sat down next to his son and slid an arm around his shoulder. "You don't have to," he hedged; he didn't want to make Paris do something that he didn't want to do, but if he coddled him too much the boy wouldn't be able to grow stronger. "If it's truly too difficult I can have another chamber made up for you. I must counsel you though not to let the ghosts of the past keep you away from something that you hold so dear. What do you want to do?"

"This is my bedchamber," Paris decided after a moment's thought. "You're right, Father; I won't have a couple of painful shadows chasing me away every time I come back to Troy. I just need another minute or so to collect myself."

More than ever it sounded like Paris wouldn't be interested in being made his heir; it wasn't unexpected but Hector still needed to present that possibility to him. "Paris," he said delicately. "I came to talk to you about a matter that was brought up at the court meeting today that concerns you: it was about my heir."

"What about Astyanax?"

"That's just it," replied Hector. "Astyanax is my first son with my wife, but _you_ are my firstborn son." Paris stared emotionlessly at him – something the king found to be a little unnerving. "This is entirely your decision and I can't guarantee that it would happen if you did decide to, but you do have a legitimate claim if you want to take on the position of my heir."

"Ah, but I don't have a legitimate birth," said Paris dryly. Hector opened his mouth to protest but the boy hushed him with a wave. "No matter how you feel about me, or how you felt about my mother you weren't married to her and in many people's eyes that mean that any claim I might have had to the throne is forfeit. Honestly, Father, the fact that you considered it to be an issue means more to me than the title itself. I have no desire to play political games to get it, especially since the result would be me having to stay here and marry a female to produce heirs of my own. As much as I love Troy I love Pthia and the Myrmidons too; the heart of the heir to the king of Troy should belong to this realm alone. Let Astyanax continue to be your heir, Father; that way I can stay with the man I love and divide my heart between two realms without causing a scandal – or a major scandal, I should say."

"You've grown into such a wise young man," smiled Hector, kissing his brow. Paris smiled and rose to his feet and his father followed suit. "It shall be done as you decided. Now, do you want me to go in with you?"

Sighing, Paris shook his head. "I have to do this on my own," he determined. "But do send Achilles this way if you see him."

With a slightly shaking hand, Paris grasped the door knob and turned it, letting out a deep breath when the door opened. _'It's just my bedchamber,'_ he told himself as he walked slowly inside. _'This was my safe haven for years. It's just my bedchamber…with someone in it –"_

"Julian!" he gasped.

The ten-year-old servant boy was so startled that he dropped the water jug that he was carrying, spilling its contents all around him. "I'm so sorry, my prince!" the child cried. "Everyone was saying that you were coming back and all and I just wanted to get everything all nice for you in here and now I've gone and messed it up – I'm sorry!"

"No need to apologize; I just wasn't expecting anyone else to be in here." Paris concentrated on getting his breathing under control while his servant hastened to clean up the mess. When he was sure that he wasn't going to hyperventilate the prince sat down on the floor, his back up against the side of the bed. "Julian, my I speak with you?"

That was a silly question as far as Julian could tell; after all, the prince had the right to tell him to do anything and didn't need to ask his permission first. "Of course, sire," he responded promptly.

He walked over until he was a respectful distance away and stood expectantly with his hands clasped in front of him and his head bowed. Paris shook his head and patted the floor next to him, silently indicating that he wanted the boy to sit down next to him. Julian, uncertain how to act in the face of this strange breech of protocol, inched forward hesitantly until he was standing beside the prince. Realizing that he couldn't comprehend doing any more, Paris gently pulled him down into a sitting position.

"I owe you an apology, Julian," stated Paris solemnly. The young servant looked down in shock; the prince tenderly took the boy's chin and raised his head so that he could look into his eyes. "What happened in this chamber on that night – you shouldn't have had to witness any of it."

Julian couldn't believe his ears. "But I was here without your permission!" he protested. "You didn't know! I deserve to be whipped, not to hear you say you're sorry –"

"Don't ever say that you deserved to be whipped," Paris broke in. "Very few people deserve that. It's true that I never intended to cause you any pain but I did so anyway and I'm sorry for that. I know that you only came back because you dropped the toy that I told you not to lose; and that you stayed because you were worried about me. I hope you can forgive me one day."

"I'll forgive you right now if it makes you feel any better, but there's really nothing for me to forgive you for," replied Julian. He was very uncomfortable with this odd conversation and wanted badly to change the topic. "Are – are you here to stay or are you going away again?"

"Well, I'll be here for a little while," answered Paris kindly. "Everyone needs to rest, recover, and get some things settled after everything that's happened. However, when the Myrmidons leave again I'll be going with them."

"And will you tell me when you're going before you have to leave?"

"I promise – we'll get to have a proper goodbye next time."

The little boy had the most sincere, earnest, and innocent expression on his face that Paris had ever seen. "No, sire; I need to know when you're going so that I can get ready to go with you."

"I can't do that to you, Julian," said Paris, imagining how frightened the boy would be if he actually tried to take him away from the only home he'd ever known.

"You need a proper servant!" exclaimed Julian. He covered his mouth, embarrassed by the outburst, and focused on keeping himself calm. "You're a prince of Troy, sire, and only a servant of Troy will know how to attend you. Please, Prince Paris – I don't want to be parted from you again."

Paris was rendered speechless, so moved was he by the child's loyalty. The only thing that he could think to do was embrace him, giving Julian yet another shock in a very short amount of time. Indeed, it took a moment or two for the boy to return it.

"Ahem," a person cleared his throat to get the duo's attention.

They broke apart and looked up. Paris smiled when he saw the identity of the newcomer but Julian's eyes grew wide and he shrank a little against the prince. "Your father directed me here," Achilles informed his lover while eying the child with him. "And who is this?"

"Julian," replied Paris with a meaningful glance.

"Julian?" repeated Achilles, searching his memory. His face brightened. "Our little voyeur! Unintentional, of course – I can understand your need to protect the prince, but you weren't supposed to see any of that. I guess you've paid in spades for it, though. Can I trust you to leave me alone with your master now?"

"Yes, my lord," the little boy squeaked. He looked at Paris and whispered, "Remember what I said" before rushing behind the dressing curtain to the servants' corridor.

Achilles waited to hear the servants' door slam before he practically threw himself on the floor and gave Paris a passionate kiss. "Where were you?" asked the prince when they broke apart, panting.

"Telling the harem about Isidore's death," explained Achilles as he planted kisses all along Paris' jaw. "At the behest of the brave soul who helped us escape here, even if we didn't know it at the time."

"Really?" Paris grinned suggestively at him. "That was nice of you – I'm _impressed _enough to give you a reward."

That had the desired affect on his lover. "It's been so long," breathed Achilles in a needful tone.

Paris slid onto his lap and put his arms around him. "Then is there any reason why we should wait any longer?"

"Absolutely none," declared Achilles as he ran his hands down his lover's back, cupping his rear and urging him closer to his body. "But I'd be interested to know what it is that you're supposed to remember."

"Hmmm?" moaned Paris as he started to grind against Achilles. "Oh, I'm supposed to tell him when I'm leaving again – he wants to come too."

Achilles shifted Paris onto his knees and hiked up his waistcloth before adjusting his own. "Excellent," he said as he began to prepare his lover.

"Oooohh – excellent?" Ecstasy and confusion warred within Paris. "You – you don't mind if – if he comes? I d-d-did-didn't – oooohhhh, _there_ – know you – liked children."

"Why does everyone find that so hard to believe?" wondered the Myrmidon. "I can be a nice person when people aren't stupid enough to make me angry. That boy can't be more than a year or two younger than Patroclus was when he came to live with me and look at how good my cousin turned out."

Paris swallowed hard as Achilles removed his fingers. Several thoughts were running through his mind: Achilles' implication that he was more interested in raising Julian rather than keeping him as a servant; how he would be able to reward Julian's love and loyalty by effectively freeing him to become a member of his family; and how much he'd like to have the opportunity to raise a child with this unpredictable yet protective and loving man. "Achilles," he tried to start to say something, but found that no words would do. Feeling more love in his heart than he ever felt possible Paris chose instead to bring his body down, impaling himself fully on Achilles' arousal before the older man could start his cautious penetration.

Achilles moaned loudly as he found himself unexpectedly – but happily – surrounded by Paris' tight heat. As they started to move in time with the rhythm of each other's bodies, the rest of the world fell away and the past was smothered by all of the memories that they would make in that bedchamber that day and well into the future.

_OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO_

That night the royal family, honored guests, nobles, and many curious onlookers gathered around as the former King Priam and Lord Isidore laid on side-by-side funeral pyres. Hector stood on the platform, watching Odysseus place the coins on their eyes so that they would be able to pay the boatman to take them to Hades. He was grateful to Ithaca's king for understanding why he couldn't perform the task himself and volunteering to do the job.

Even while surrounded by all of that death and the devastating reminders of a childhood lost, Hector counted himself among the luckiest men in the world and he could see the reasons for that beyond those defeated demons. On the royal platform his beautiful wife Andromache sat on the long-empty queen's throne with Astyanax nestled in her arms. Standing beside them was Paris, tall, proud, and surging with a confidence that he'd never had before while Priam and Isidore had lived. Achilles was right next to him, wrapping Hector's son in a supportive embrace. Hector decided that he liked the Grecian warrior despite his odd humor and quick temper. Anyone who loved Paris so wholly had the king's approval.

Last but not least there was his new friend Odysseus, who'd completed the ritual and stepped back beside Hector. "You didn't have to do this," the Greek told him. "No one would have blamed you for leaving them to rot."

"I am no god," replied Hector. "I am not fit to pass eternal judgments on men. If I'd left them to rot they would have always been on my mind, haunting me. No; it's best to hand them over to Hades and forget them. We can't let the past destroy us when we have a bright future to look forward to."

"A future with an alliance between Ithaca and Troy," said Odysseus almost dreamily. "And now Achilles fights for you."

A memory from another time and life flitted into Hector's mind and he heard Menelaus claim to control the warrior echo through his head. This time he did snort. "Achilles fights for Achilles."

Odysseus smiled knowingly. "He fights out of love for Paris," he responded as the two kings walked away from the fires and toward Hector's family. Behind them the pyres burned, sending Priam and Isidore to the judgment and punishment of Hades.

The end.

_A/N: Thanks to everyone who took the time to read this story, especially to those of you who reviewed. I'm glad I had the chance to revise this, and I really enjoyed doing so!_


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